| abstract
| - The rounded YT-1210 freighter Quick Step reverted from hyperspace outside a barren star system. Just visible from the freighter’s cockpit was a dim red dwarf star orbited by two rocky worlds barely worth the label of planet and a pale blue gas giant much farther away. The ship vectored closer to the desolate star system, sweeping the planets with powerful sensors to determine their value. “That was a sweet jump!” called the Rodian pilot Jebvui excitedly from her station inside the cockpit. “Brought us right on target!” “It was pretty good,” replied the ship’s planetary mapper, Samtel Kraen, as he glanced over his shoulder at the navigator, a young woman from Commenor named Lena Quee. “Thanks,” she said, acknowledging their gratitude. “Anything of interest on the planets?” “Got long-range scans coming up now,” Samtel answered. “Looks like significant heavy metal deposits in the first and second planets. The gas giant has a number of viable inorganic gas mining options. Quite a nice find, and we’ve got a hyperroute to get here.” The crew of the Quick Step was hyperspace scouts, charting new paths through the twisted rigors of hyperspace and surveying new worlds for possible colonization and mining efforts. While normally deployed from a larger Barloz-class freighter, Sunflash, they often took the smaller, faster Quick Step to chart side routes that Sunflash didn’t have time to examine. “How much do you think this is worth?” Jebvui asked in her clipped accent. “Quite a bit if you ask me.” “There’s a lot of mineral wealth,” Samtel agreed, looking over at the green-skinned Rodian captain and pilot. “You could just about run a shipyard just off this system. It has at least ninety percent of the major minerals you’d need to build a ship.” “The problem is getting here,” Lena replied. “Look, we’re way out in Wild Space with no major hyperroute to get here from the Core. It's a sector and a half off the Corellian Run and there’s no major industry there until maybe Geonosis or Hypori, which are even farther. Not to mention that outer nebula shell we had to fly through to get here.” “Ya, strange to have a nebula surrounding the entire system like that,” Jebvui agreed. “Not exactly,” Lena countered. “That red dwarf used to be a normal orange or yellow star until it depleted all its hydrogen and helium through nuclear fusion. Then it swelled up as it fused heavier elements, burning off the surface of the first two planets. When it finally blew off its outer layers and shrunk down into a red dwarf, all the ejected stellar matter would have formed a spherical shell nebula around the system due to gravity from the star.” Jebvui blinked her round black eyes at Lena, trying to process all the woman had just said. “Thank you, Professor,” Samtel replied drily. “Will that be on the exam?” She flushed red for a moment and turned back to her station, embarrassed and belittled. Lena was saved from further commentary by the ship’s intercom crackling, and she swiftly resolved the static-filled transmission into the voice of Duan Viir, the Sullustan engineer of the Quick Step. “Captain, we have a problem here,” the Sullustan announced. “What’s the matter, Duan?” Jebvui asked concernedly. “The hyperdrive engine has sustained ionic degradation. The containment shielding on the ionization chamber is significantly weaker than it should be. It’s a lot more porous, like something was eating through it.” The Sullustan’s chittering voice, normally rapid-paced anyway, had reached an almost feverish rate of words spilling from his mouth. “Is it serious?” Jebvui inquired. “Hard to tell,” he said. “We might have five jumps left, might have one. All depends on the jump we take.” Lena frowned. “The nebula’s particles must have gotten through the hyperdrive shielding,” she observed. “Well, that’s unfortunate. The hyperdrive will have to be replaced now,” Jebvui said dejectedly. “Raise the Sunflash and tell them to pick us up.” “On it,” Lena replied, reaching for the communications board and the set of privacy headphones attached to it. After several minutes, though, Lena turned back, a puzzled look on her face. “I can’t seem to get through,” she said. “Either the ship is out of range, or else the interference from the nebula is blocking the signal.” “So what now?” Samtel asked. “We get out of this nebula,” Jebvui announced. “Duan, how long until we can jump safely?” “About an hour, maybe two,” the Sullustan answered. “Just make it a short one. You don’t want to stress a leaky hyperdrive.” “Of course,” Jebvui assured him. “Lena, get me a safe course out of this mess.” Two hours later, the Quick Step was ready for hyperspace, or at least as ready as Duan Viir could make it with the equipment on hand. However, not all of its crew was as prepared. In the cockpit, Lena and Jebvui seemed to be having an argument. “Lena, what is this?” Jebvui demanded. “Your course takes us deeper into the nebula before it takes us out. This is not what I wanted.” “I know,” Lena replied simply. Jebvui started to berate her, but Samtel intervened. “Hang on, Captain,” he said. “Lena probably has a reason. Let’s hear her out before we shove her out of the airlock.” He looked pointedly at Lena, who took his backhanded support as a gesture to continue. “This is a low-power jump,” she said. “We need to pick up acceleration to get clear of the nebula without staying in it long enough to totally degrade our hyperdrive shielding, but we can’t get that acceleration from a damaged engine. So we fly into the clear, into that system, while in hyperspace, to pick up acceleration from gravity.” “Wait, I thought that a planet’s gravity pulled ships out of hyperspace?” Samtel asked. “How does that help us?” “Only if you get too close to the gravity well,” Lena answered. “We could skirt the edge of it and pick up acceleration from a slingshot maneuver around it.” “And that works in hyperspace?” Samtel inquired skeptically. “It takes some decent calculations, but yes, gravitational-assisted hyperdrive boosting is doable.” “So how come it’s not done more often?” Jebvui asked. Lena shrugged. “It’s fairly theoretical. You also don’t save a lot of fuel or energy on a typical hyperdrive and it takes longer. But when you’re low on available power and time isn’t as important, it’s more efficient.” “What do you mean by theoretical?” Samtel pressed. “It means that it’s been done successfully,” Lena said. “Just by specialized research vessels. Not by ordinary ships.” Samtel rolled his eyes. “Fantastic,” he said. “Whatever, what she says for me is good enough,” Jebvui replied in her accented Basic. “Put in the course, Lena.” “Captain, are you sure this is a good idea?” Samtel asked worriedly. Jebvui dismissed him with a wave of her sucker-fingered hand. “When you as smart as Lena at navigation, then you can talk about good ideas.” Samtel sighed and strapped himself into his chair as Lena finished sending the coordinates from the navicomputer to Jebvui’s controls. The engines whined and groaned, rattling the Quick Step as the reverberations shook the ship. It was unlike the healthy throbbing of the ship’s normal pre-jump sequence, and the crew found it unsettling. Their vessel had sustained more damage than they thought it had. “All crew, prepare for hyperspace,” Jebvui announced. “We’re ready,” Duan told her. The ship shuddered as she pulled the hyperdrive initiation lever. The stars twisted and turned a bit more slowly and erratically than usual, but eventually coalesced into the twisting luminescent tunnel of hyperspace. “How we doing, Duan?” Jebvui asked. “Engines are running hot,” he said. “Secondary radiation leakage increasing.” “Is it holding?” she pressed. “For now,” the worried Sullustan answered. “How long is jump?” Jebvui inquired, turning to Lena. “About five minutes to get clear of the nebula,” she said. “Just a short hop.” And it would have been, if the Quick Step’s hyperdrive could have sustained it. The ionic degradation was more severe than Duan Viir had detected, and now the relativistic manipulation inside the hyperdrive’s motivator was being bombarded with highly-energized particles from the nebula around it. The end result was something akin to pouring liquid hydrocarbons onto burning metal, magnified tenfold and intensified by the fierce matter-anti-matter nature of the hyperdrive mechanism. The Quick Step was rocked by a massive explosion in its stern that sent the ship tumbling end-over-end as the hyperdrive motivator exploded. The three crewmembers in the cockpit heard a scream as the explosion consumed Duan Viir. Jebvui snapped into action, yanking the ship out of hyperspace with a fierce jerk on the hyperdrive lever. The stars twisted back into view, revealing that they were still trapped inside the nebula, but that was the least of their problems. The hyperdrive systems were overloaded and breached, venting radiation and hot plasma throughout the engine compartments, cooking everything inside there. Control circuits conducted the plasma flow, sending blue tendrils of energy along control panels and power systems through the ship. Sparks flew in showers as numerous lines overloaded and burst from the intense energy surge. “Shut down the power!” Lena shouted. Jebvui complied hastily, shutting down the main power reactor of the Quick Step before it too was breached by the radiation pulse. Thankfully, the hyperdrive reaction, once starved of power and no longer activated by the nebula’s radiation, spiraled down to inert, cooling off rapidly. “I’m going to check on Duan,” Samtel said, reaching for his seatstraps even though the ship was still spinning despite Jebvui’s attempts to stall it with maneuvering thrusters. “Don’t bother,” Lena told him stiffly. “With all that radiation and plasma, there’s no way he made it. And even if by some miracle he did, he’d die a very painful death in the next few minutes.” “He’s . . . dead?” Samtel asked, horrified. Lena nodded soberly. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But there’s no way he survived. In fact, we need to seal off the engine compartments. They’re cooling down too fast.” “Isn’t that a good thing?” Jebvui inquired. “Not this time,” Lena answered. “They should still be filled with the molten remains of the hyperdrive system. The ship can’t vent all that energy on its own, so that must mean—,” “We have a hole in the ship,” Samtel finished. “Probably more than one.” “Good point,” Jebvui said, activating the emergency bulkheads to seal off the engine compartments. A few more pulses of the maneuvering thrusters finally managed to stabilize the tumbling Quick Step. It was eerily quiet inside the ship without the hum of the engines. The normal lighting had given way to dim emergency lights and a smoky aura filled the cabin, along with the sharp tang of burned metal and plastics. The inertial compensator had been blown out, so there was no artificial gravity, so loose odds and ends floated around the spacecraft. Occasional residual energy spikes crackled through the control boards in a discomfiting manner. “So now what?” Samtel asked. “How much air do we have?” “Fourteen hours,” Jebvui answered. “Time enough to land on planet over there.” She pointed towards the second planet of the system, whose gravity well the Quick Step had been attempting to skirt. The nebula’s shell was thinner there, but it was still present, encompassing the ship in its hazy glow. “Can we land there, Samtel?” she asked. “Hard to tell with the scanners offline,” he said, trying to use the damaged controls without success. After several seconds of pushing unresponsive buttons, he pulled out a pair of macrobinoculars and focused them on the yellow-green world he was viewing. “Well, there’s clouds, so that means an atmosphere. No guarantees that it’s oxygen-based, unless . . .” He trailed off, switching different modes of the macrobinoculars. “We could find out,” he said at last. “How?” Jebvui asked. “We fire one of the escape pods at the planet. The re-entry burn will tell me what the atmosphere is composed of.” “Infrared spectroscopy?” Lena asked. “Exactly,” Samtel agreed. “Do it,” Jebvui said. Unstrapping, the two pushed off through the ruined ship, making their way back to the ship’s two escape pods as they floated along. It was there that they found an unpleasant discovery. “That is so not good,” Samtel announced. “It’ll still do what we want to,” Lena pointed out. “Depends on what we want them to do, doesn’t it?” he answered crossly. Hitting the manual release, he released one of the escape pods, sending it spiraling down towards the planet they were orbiting. The two then made their way back up to the cockpit and strapped back in. “Good news is, it’s away,” Samtel told Jebvui. “Bad news is that both escape pods have hull breaches. We won’t be able to ride them anywhere.” “Kriff,” Jebvui swore. “Nothing we can do now but watch anyway.” She gestured at the descending escape pod. Samtel brought up his binoculars to his face and followed its trajectory as a fiery trail built up around it during its plunge to the surface. “We’re in luck,” he said. “Atmosphere is oxygen and carbon dioxide, more oxygen than carbon dioxide. Not the best mix for Humans and Rodians, but it’ll do. There’s even trees. What I don’t understand is how this planet could have life on it after getting blasted by all that stellar material.” “That could have been hundreds of millions of years ago,” Lena pointed out. “The planet probably developed completely different life or has mutated versions of earlier life forms. It's habitable now, which is a good sign.” “That still leaves the problem of getting down there,” Samtel said. “I solve problem already,” Jebvui interrupted. “Lena, get transmitter and vac suit. Put power cells with transmitter and stick them inside escape pod. Shoot it out of nebula.” “How long is it going to take for that pod to leave the nebula?” Samtel asked. Lena looked up at the ceiling, considering it. “Assuming we vector far enough out of the planet’s gravity well so it doesn’t get pulled back and I do some programming, at least twenty days.” “And we have air for less than fourteen hours, right?” Samtel inquired. “Am I the only one seeing a problem with that?” “Is not a problem,” Jebvui cut him off. “I land the ship on planet, survive until help comes.” “You’re going to land the ship, without power?” Samtel asked. “Isn’t that—?” “You obey captain, Samtel!” Jebvui snapped. “Help Lena set up the transmitter. Leave ta tinking ta me dis time.” Two hours later, he and Lena watched as their remaining escape pod was jettisoned on an outbound course that would take it away from the system and through the nebula. Packed inside it was enough power cells for thirty days of operational transmitting, a datapad with some hastily-coded programming, and as much portable radiation shielding material as they could manage. On instructions from Jebvui, the two were strapped into the chairs in the crew lounge, secure in vac suits. The captain had refused to budge from her chair and had insisted on flying the ship without their help. While both Lena and Samtel had protested, Jebvui had been adamant. She and she alone would take the ship down. Cut off from contact or even a viewport, they were only cognizant that re-entry had begun when they began to feel the vibrations as the Quick Step hit the outer edges of the atmosphere. Soon, the vibration intensified into bucking and shaking as the friction of re-entry shook the crippled vessel. Loose objects that remained despite attempts to secure all such detritus flew around haphazardly at ridiculous speeds, making Samtel and Lena grateful for the protection of their vac suits. Abruptly, the emergency lights cut off, plunging them into permanent darkness. The ship’s rattling increased, tossing them around violently. The ambient air temperature drastically rose as the ship’s battered hull ablated and conducted the searing friction-induced heat caused by slamming the ship into the planet’s atmosphere inside the ship. Both crewmembers were sweating even inside their vac suits. Finally, the rattling and heat subsided, leaving only Samtel and Lena with this odd whistling sound as the Quick Step descended without any power other than weak pulses from the maneuvering thrusters. “Brace for impact. Gonna be rough,” Jebvui warned them. Samtel tightened his seat restraint, even though he’d already done so about ten times during re-entry. He began counting the seconds until they hit from her announcement, getting to about eight and a half before it happened. It being a jarring crash of the Quick Step. As unpowered crash landings went, it wasn’t bad, as it didn’t kill the entire crew instantly. Unfortunately, it wasn’t anything remotely close to smooth and innocuous. The jarring impact tore Samtel’s over-tightened strap and hurled him from his seat, sending him flying around the crew lounge along with a motley assortment of other ship fixtures, slamming painfully around as the ship scraped along the surface of the planet. The last thing he remembered was the port bulkhead rushing up at his side much too quickly for his liking. Then there was a sharp pain in his left arm and side, then unconsciousness. Slowly, Samtel stirred back to consciousness and immediately wished he hadn’t. His left arm and chest throbbed, sending sharp shooting pains through his body every time he breathed. Something shook him, exacerbating the pain. He tried to swear at the disruption, but it only came out as a moan. “Good, you’re alive,” he heard a female voice say. “Glad I’m not the only one.” Turning his head slowly, Samtel looked over to see Lena knelt down beside him, shaking him gently, a worried look on her face. “Are you okay?” she asked him. Having finally collected enough of his wits to regain the capability for speech, Samtel had some choice words for her. His relief at still being alive had rapidly faded into exasperation and misery from whatever was wrong with him and he wasn’t about to play twenty questions with Lena. “Up until now,” he managed with a wince. “I was having a great nap until you woke me up and made everything hurt again.” “Don’t start with me,” Lena warned, a hard edge to her voice, but she couldn’t sustain it. She trailed off lamely, leaving Samtel to wonder what she had left unsaid, or what had disrupted her rebuke. “Let’s have a look at that arm,” she said in a more subdued manner. “It looks broken. What else is wrong?” “Ribs,” Samtel replied shortly. “I think I cracked a couple.” She rummaged around in a medkit by her side, retrieving a spray splint and an irrigation bulb. Peeling back Samtel’s sleeve, something which elicited considerable pain in her grimacing patient, she gently probed his arm. “Hey, ow!” Samtel protested. “That kriffing hurts. You could use the scanner, you know!” “We might need the power in that later,” Lena said. “This hurts, but it’s more efficient.” “Marvelous how efficiency comes at the price of my discomfort,” Samtel grumbled. “Thankfully, it’s a clean fracture,” Lena pronounced. “The bone just snapped, it should heal quickly once I’ve set it.” “Hang on, let’s go back to that last part,” Samtel said, but before he could finish his sentence, Lena manually reset the bone into position, which elicited a howl from her reluctant patient. While Samtel gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the fireball of pain that she had ignited in his arm, she applied the spray splint, layering on a fast-hardening liquid that would cement around the arm, protecting the bone while it healed. “I think I want a new doctor,” he said weakly after she was finished. “Fair enough,” Lena replied. She tossed an injector, a bone stabilizer, and some space tape onto the ruined deck next to him. “Tape up your own ribs,” the woman told him. “I also recommend you dose up on the antibiotics. No telling what kind of strange microbes this world has.” With that, she walked off stiffly, leaving Samtel with an impression that he’d hurt her feelings. Moreover, stabilizing and taping his own ribs was just as unpleasant for him to do as it would have been if she had done it. When that painful task was completed and several layers of tape strips were wound around his chest, he dosed himself with the antibiotics and painkillers Lena had left and slowly got to his feet. His head hurt, and getting up was dizzying enough that he had to lean on the remains of a wall for a minute, but he was able to walk. “Lena?” he asked. Samtel wandered around the ruined ship, noting that Jebvui had managed to land it on its belly so at least everything was oriented correctly. However, walking was a lot harder than he thought, and every step seemed to be harder to take than the previous one. He also found that he had difficulty breathing. Then the sound of retching told him where Lena was. He waited outside the refresher for her to emerge, noting that she didn’t look so good. There was an unhealthy pallor to her skin, combined with a swollen redness on her face. It brought back memories of a similar situation in childhood, memories that were as vivid as if he’d just experienced them. His near-perfect memory was a curse sometimes, but right now, it just might be a gift. “Are you okay?” he asked her. She tried to speak, her mouth opening, but no words emerged. Instead, her breath came in shallow gasps. Lena stumbled forward and would have fallen to the floor if Samtel hadn’t hastily caught her. “Oh no, you’re not getting away this easily,” he told her sternly, laying her down on the floor even as she wheezed for air. Samtel felt his own head begin to throb and his own breathing become more labored as well. He had a hunch he knew what was wrong, even as he gasped to take in enough oxygen. A constricting feeling around his throat and at the bridge of his nose all but confirmed his suspicion. Staggering over to the medkit, he rummaged around in it until he found the vial he was looking for. Slotting it into place in the injector, he shot most of it into Lena, and then jammed the rest into his leg. She was turning an asphyxiated blue, eyes wide and unfocused, face swollen. “Come on,” Samtel muttered. “Say something.” Lena was limp on the deck, nonresponsive, still struggling to breathe. Occasional spasms wracked her body—not a good sign. “I’m warning you,” Samtel told her. “You don’t want me to have to do mouth-to-mouth. It’s been at least a day since I’ve brushed my teeth.” Just when he was about to ignore his own advice and attempt rescue breathing, Lena suddenly started coughing. Samtel placed one hand behind her head so she wouldn’t hurt herself on the deck, but sighed with relief that she was at least breathing again. His own respiration had likewise eased so that was also a good sign. “What was that?” she asked. “Sssssh, just focus on breathing,” he said. “Don’t talk. And if you must know, it was epinephrine.” “Why that?” Lena inquired as she sat up slowly, taking deep breaths. “How’d you know that would help me breathe?” “When I was a kid, I had an uncle with an allergy to chooca nuts. One accidentally got into his soup and just having it in his mouth caused him to swell up like you did. He fell down and couldn’t breathe, but my aunt injected him with epinephrine and said it would open his airways. She saved his life.” “I don’t get it,” Lena said. “I’m not allergic to anything.” “Neither am I,” Samtel had answered. “But I was having the same problem. You were breathing more of the air here earlier because you’ve been conscious longer, so it didn’t hit me as hard. My guess is that there’s something in the air on this planet that both of us are allergic to. Maybe humans in general.” “That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said since we’ve landed,” Lena said stiffly. “And it actually makes sense. It also explains the rash and the swelling.” “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Samtel replied curtly. “We can talk about who’s right more often later. Right now, we need to seal off the ship. Close off all the gaps and run the air filters. That epinephrine will only keep you going for a couple of hours.” “What do you propose we use that’s airtight?” Lena asked him. Samtel held up the roll of space tape that he had used to tape his ribs. “I assume you know how to use this,” he said. “Good guess,” she said, pulling herself to her feet. It was then that Samtel noticed that her left boot was a bit more swollen than her right foot. “What happened to your foot?” he asked. “Does the allergy make your feet swell too?” “No, but spraining your ankle does,” she answered stiffly. “If you start working on taping the larger breaches, I’ll find a flowmeter and see if I can find the smaller ones.” She limped off, leaving Samtel standing there feeling particularly stupid. He tried to summon an appropriate comeback, but couldn’t think of anything that made him seem like less of a jerk. With nothing else to fall back on, he changed the subject. “Where’s Jebvui?” he called after her. “In the cockpit,” came the reply, a short, succinct reply deliberately controlled to be as devoid of emotion as possible. That alone told Samtel something was wrong. Normal people didn’t go to such efforts to exert such tight emotional and tonal control on such a simple statement. He walked slowly up to the outboard cockpit, noting there seemed to be significant structural damage. As he walked into the cramped compartment from where Jebvui had flown the ship, the extent of the damage and the lack of any sound of sentient activity served as a portent for what he found. Jebvui was slumped over in the pilot’s chair, head slanted at an impossible angle, obviously dead. The impact had broken her neck and it looked as if several of the control panels had exploded also. Samtel felt a wave of remorse for the Rodian pilot; she had been fun, easy-going, but also competent and had a way of keeping the crew’s cohesion together. Now he knew why Lena had been so restrained with her response—Jebvui had been one of the few crewmembers who tolerated Lena’s occasional spurts of knowledge-laden information. Now she was gone, having sacrificed herself to keep him and Lena alive. “Do you think she knew?” Samtel heard Lena ask him quietly from behind him. It hurt to think about another sentient being knowingly sacrificing themself for his sake, but Samtel also knew that Jebvui would have done it. The pain from her death was raw, fresh. Maybe it was better to deal with it now, before it festered. However, he did not make eye contact with Lena, preferring to keep his gaze on the dead captain. He didn’t know if he could face her right now, so he just answered over his shoulder. “Yeah,” Samtel managed, trying not to choke on his words. “She probably did, and yet she did it anyway.” “Why?” That gave him some pause. Lena’s voice was subdued and she sounded more scared than he had ever heard her express before. Moreover, he didn’t have an answer to her question. “I don’t know,” he said. “But if she died to keep us alive, the least we could do is to try and keep living until help comes.” He finally turned around. “Do we have another roll of tape?” he asked. “We need to seal off the ship before the epinephrine wears off.” She nodded silently and led him to a locker with another role of tape. Samtel and Lena spent the next few hours fighting difficult breathing and the swollen, itchy feeling on any exposed skin before her flowmeter finally indicated that they had closed off every breach in the Quick Step. “There, that’s better,” Samtel wheezed. “That should reduce the amount of allergens getting in.” “What do we do about the ones already inside?” Lena asked. “We’ll have to run the air filters.” She gave him a quizzical look. “There’s no power to the ship. How do you propose to do that?” “I was thinking we run the auxiliary generators. If you’ll help me fix them, I think we can get some power flowing.” As it turned out, it wasn’t that simple. They ended up pulling off the power cell from a speeder bike stored in the cargo hold and several portable generators and chaining them together. Finding the proper regulators took thirty minutes of rooting around in the ruined engine compartments before they could salvage something worth using. Once the power generators were rigged, Samtel and Lena had to run cables to all of the air filtration units and splice them into the existing control systems. The ones near the deck were easy enough, but the ceiling-mounted units posed a problem. “So, what do we do about those?” Samtel asked. “We could do without them,” Lena said. “But then we’d have a problem with replacing the air inside. Most of the ship’s lower air filters are buried into the ground. We’d die of carbon dioxide poisoning.” “What’s the minimum number of those that we could run and still have air?” Samtel asked. Lena thought about it for a minute. “At least three—no, wait. Make that two.” “Which is it?” “It’s two. The one in the crew lounge where I presume we’ll be working, and one in whichever cabin we decide to use.” Her clarification gave Samtel a good guess as to why her initial estimate had been three. “Look, we can use two cabins. We can fix an extra filter so that we can avoid any—,” She cut him off. “It’s inefficient to use three filters simultaneously instead of two. We’ll deplete our filters faster that way. Furthermore, if there are temperature extremes and we also have to heat or cool compartments, it’s better to do that to only one. Lastly, in case something happens to one of us, it makes sense that the other is there to assist.” “Fair point,” Samtel acknowledged. “By the way, I figured out how to fix the ceiling filters.” “How?” she asked. “We can’t reach them and even if you could get up there, you can’t splice power lines with only one fully functional hand.” “You’re right on the second, but not on the first,” Samtel responded. He squatted down. “Get on my shoulders, and I’ll hold you up while you fix the filters,” he suggested. She did as instructed and Samtel slowly stood up with Lena sitting on his shoulders, trying not to aggravate his ribs. Every minute seemed like an eternity as she fiddled with the cables and soon his shoulders were aching with the exertion. His arms began trembling and he could feel beads of sweat collecting on the back of his neck. “Finished yet?” Samtel grunted. “Almost,” came her reply. It was another uncomfortable three minutes before she was finished, but at least the air filter was fixed, Samtel noted. “Now, to see about some power,” Lena pointed out as she dismounted. Samtel flipped the switch and their crude power generator assembly came to life with a reassuring glow. Furthermore, they heard the comforting whoosh of the air filtration systems activating. “Good,” he said. “At least we can breathe now.” His stomach rumbled with hunger and he wondered how long it had been since they crash-landed. “You want something to eat?” he asked Lena. She nodded. “I’ll get it,” he said, heading to the compartment that had once housed the ship’s crude galley. Of course the food prep unit was trashed, its contents spoiled. Instead, Samtel found a pair of survival ration packs. He couldn’t read the labels, but assumed they were edible since the seals were still intact. “Dinner is served,” he announced, placing one of them in front of where Lena was sitting beside the generator assembly. “Is it dinner or breakfast?” she asked. “I have no idea,” Samtel replied. “I lost track of time when we landed. Anyway, today’s specialty is survival rations, served cold and tasteless if we’re lucky.” “What happens if we’re unlucky?” she asked. “Then they’re still cold, except they taste awful as well,” Samtel answered. “Here goes nothing,” Lena said, ripping open one of the packages and sampling the fare. The grimace on her face as she bit into an unrecognizable patty of some kind told him that they were probably unlucky. “How’s your dinner?” he asked. Her face still contorted with revulsion, Lena stared back at him as if he’d asked a stupid question. “Absolutely wonderful,” she managed with false cheeriness. “Would you like to try some?” “Thank you so very much,” Samtel said deadpan. “I think I’ll just let you enjoy your meal though.” He opened his ration pack, praying to any local deities that were feeling particularly beneficent that his culinary experience wouldn’t be quite so foul. Unfortunately, that was not the case. It seemed to be some kind of gukked egg, except pureed, seasoned with rotting meat, and laced with slime yeast. He was hungry enough that he forced it down; in any other situation, it would have been immediately tossed into the recycler. “Well, now what?” Lena asked after they had both finished their unappetizing meal. “How much food is there?” “There’s enough for about a month, if we stretch it,” Samtel replied. “Ration packs and nutrient tubes. If we can get the ship’s water recycling systems working, we might be able to stretch the water about half that time.” “This planet has life, though,” Lena pointed out. “Surely it has rain also.” “Maybe,” Samtel replied. “Have you seen the trees though? They don’t even have leaves. I’m not counting on this planet for anything.” “Fair enough,” she said. “I suppose we should fix the water systems then.” They spent the next three hours digging in the bowels of the ruined Quick Step, trying to patch leaking pipes and splice more power cables into the water recycling. It was a messy, greasy business and both Samtel and Lena ended up with plentiful amounts of dirty water and other detritus smattered over them. “Okay, that’s enough,” Samtel said finally as the water recycler sprayed them with another spurt of un-purified water. “We can get this tomorrow.” Lena started to protest, but he gently took the hydrospanner from her hands and set it back in the toolbox. “The damn thing will still be here tomorrow and we’re not exactly going anywhere,” Samtel told her. “My ribs hurt and it’s getting late local time.” “How do you know that?” she asked. “I thought you said you lost track of time.” “I did,” Samtel said. “But I’ve never been on a planet where the day was colder than the night.” “It has gotten chilly,” Lena said, rubbing her hands together. “I have a feeling it’s going to get worse,” Samtel told her. “What about getting the heaters working?” she asked. “Don’t want to overload the power grid,” he said. “It’s also too much work for tonight. We can look at it tomorrow.” Lena was exhausted as Samtel was and made no argument. They clambered out of the compartments to find that the temperature was dropping significantly. A peek outside from the cockpit revealed that the planet’s sun had almost completely disappeared behind the treeline, plunging the planet’s surface into icy temperatures. After quickly wiping off any exposed skin and the worst-affected parts of their clothing with sanitizer wipes, Samtel quickly collected all the bedding from the various cabins and piled them into his cabin while Lena managed to drag a second mattress from Jebvui’s cabin in as well. “Why not your mattress?” Samtel asked her. “My cabin was destroyed during re-entry,” she said flatly. “Everything in there was burned.” “I’m sorry,” Samtel, whose cabin was largely unscathed in terms of major damage, replied. He wrapped his cold-temperature jacket around himself and clambered under the blankets, noting that he still felt cold. A final look at the temperature told him that it was already ten below water’s freezing point and dropping. “We’ll just see what tomorrow brings,” he said, watching as she pulled on her own heavy jacket and crawled under the blankets, bundling them tightly around herself. It took Samtel awhile to fall asleep, but he finally dozed off uneasily, dreaming of riding a burning ship that fell forever but never crashed. A few meters away, Lena lay huddled, shivering with a cold that seemed to penetrate every centimeter of insulation to sap her strength. She had never had a high tolerance for cold and this was the coldest she had felt in years. When she finally drifted off to sleep, it was to dream of being caught in an endless wasteland of ice, with only the frozen corpse of Jebvui to keep her company. Samtel awoke to find that the ship was still plunged in darkness. He pulled up his chronometer and found that he’d been asleep for ten hours, but it was still clearly dark outside. Looking over at Lena, he saw she was still sleeping, curled up tightly in her blankets. The air was frigid and chill, although the visibility of his exhalations was enough to tell him that it was still quite cold outside. Shivering, he struggled out of bed and clambered to his feet, wincing at the pain in his ribs that the motion induced. The first thing he did was to pull on his boots and then find a pair of gloves and a hat to help keep himself warm. Rummaging around in the galley, he found a frozen nutrient tube. Tearing the end off with numbed fingers, he choked down the icy slurry, reminding himself that it would give him strength to continue through the day. He checked his chrono again, but found that Lena was still asleep. Out of morbid curiosity, he examined the thermometer and found it was a full twenty degrees below water’s freezing point. “Wonderful,” he said. Heading back to the cabin, he knelt down by Lena and gently shook her. She stirred, but didn’t open her eyes. “It’s so cold,” she whispered hoarsely. “So cold.” Upon closer examination, he saw that her skin was blue—obviously she wasn’t handling the cold well. “Come on,” Samtel said encouragingly helping her sit up. “Time to wake up.” He laid out an extra pair of gloves and another two jackets for her from the storage compartment. “You’ll want to put those on,” Samtel said. “It’s pretty chilly.” She complied slowly, accepting a proffered nutrient tube as a meager breakfast. Samtel helped her hobble over to the generator assembly, which gave off a sparse amount of heat that made the crew lounge mildly warmer than the surroundings. “Odd,” Lena commented. “It’s been ten hours since we went to sleep, and the sun hasn’t come back up.” “This planet could have a very long rotational period,” Samtel said. “Great, another discomfort. First, it’s the allergies. Then the higher gravity, now this,” Lena complained. “Higher gravity?” Samtel inquired while he examined the generator assembly. “This planet has about 1.2 standard G’s,” Lena responded. “That’s why you feel so tired. The extra gravity places additional strain on your bones and muscles.” “Good to know,” Samtel grunted. “I have even more great news to add to that.” “What is it?” Lena asked. “We can’t possibly run heating or cooling off this assembly. It’s straining just to keep the air filters running,” Samtel told her. “That doesn’t make sense,” Lena replied irritably. “It was running just fine yesterday.” “Not at optimal operating temperatures anymore,” Samtel told her. “Also, there’s a fair amount of inefficiency and leakage in this system. The lower power level isn’t that surprising to me.” “So now what?” Lena asked. “We can’t open the water system back up,” Samtel said. “It would freeze once we unsealed the insulation, maybe damage the system. The refresher station is probably all frozen too.” “So what can we do?” Lena inquired. “We can’t just sit here and do nothing.” “We can try and insulate our cabin more,” Samtel told her. “Stay in there as much as possible to keep it warm.” “That’s it? Hunker down and keep warm?” Lena demanded. “Unless you have a better idea,” Samtel responded. “We can’t work on the water system while it’s frozen and overloading these generators could cost us our air. What else did you have in mind?” “I don’t know. Something,” she said fiercely, turning away. She paused, collecting her thoughts and trying to cool her irritation. “We don’t know how long this night will last, Samtel, but I’m not about to sit around and wait to freeze to death. We need to do something to improve our situation.” “I agree, but we also need to be smart about it. Right now, we have enough water and food to last us for another thirteen ‘days.’ In that time, we can probably find a way to purify more water, even if we have to do it manually. The important thing is making a place where we can actually function without worry of freezing. And there is one other thing we can do.” “What’s that?” “Grab a breath mask and a hood and follow me,” Samtel told her. He led her up to the cockpit and gestured at Jebvui. “We can give her a decent burial before the ground gets too hard. The breath masks should protect us from the worst of the allergies.” She nodded her consent and together the two pried the frozen corpse out from the chair and carried it to the airlock. After sealing the inner door behind them, they fitted their breath masks and stepped outside into the frigid alien landscape. All around them were stalks of eerie trees, with purple trunks and numerous clayish pods hanging off the branches instead of leaves. The undergrowth seemed to be composed of sharp-edged rock-like plants with slits in them. It was a hostile, alien environment and Samtel felt his skin begin to itch from the allergens in the air only seconds after exposure. There was a steady wind whistling through the branches of the trees; the only sound on the otherwise lifeless planet. “The ground is fairly soft for a place this cold,” Samtel noted as he used a shovel to dig a deep enough hole to lay the body of their captain inside. “I don’t think it’s this cold all the time,” Lena answered. “Those trees have to photosynthesize sometime.” “I suppose,” Samtel replied. Gently, he and Lena laid Jebvui’s body into the shallow grave. Samtel stood silently, head bowed in respect for his captain for a moment, then started to reach for the shovel. “Aren’t you going to say something?” Lena asked him expectantly. Samtel gave her a curious look, then shrugged. “I guess,” he said, though he felt stupid and awkward. Clearing his throat, he attempted a eulogy. “We’re here to remember the life of Captain Jebvui, who gave her life in the ultimate sacrifice of a spacefarer: to die so that your crew might live. She was a brave explorer, a good shipmate . . . and a friend. We’ll miss her now that’s she taken her final jump.” Reaching for their shovels, he and Lena piled dirt over the body. They headed back into the ship once the burial was complete, dosing themselves on antihistamines to reduce the swelling. As Samtel put the shovels away, he noted that Lena’s eyes were still swollen and red, and a tear was dripping down her cheek. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked. “Nothing,” she replied hastily, turning her face away. Samtel inferred her source of distress, but didn’t want to be too direct and upset her further. “Look, I know you’re sad about Jebvui,” he said. “You were a lot closer to her than I was. If you want to talk about it, I think we’re going to have some time.” “I’m fine,” she forced out through gritted teeth. “Okay,” Samtel said, demurring. “You don’t have to talk about it. I’m going to work on insulating the cabin. If you’d prefer to stay in the lounge and have some time to yourself, get warm and all, that’s fine with me.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “How are you going to hang any kind of insulating material with only one good arm? Besides, I said I’m fine.” She stalked past him angrily, leaving Samtel standing there feeling stupid yet again. “I would have managed,” he called after her lamely. Samtel kicked himself mentally. His attempt to sound sympathetic had clearly exploded in his face and while he might have distracted Lena from thinking about Jebvui’s death, he had done so by angering her. Not exactly the outcome he had been expecting. Following her into the cabin, he found that her just as hostile as she had been a minute earlier. They worked in almost total silence, save for brusque, monosyllabic instructions and comments. The frigid air seemed representative of the mood and the icy silence that hung between them. Working as quickly as possible with numbed fingers, they hung sheets of insulating fabric, any kind of material they could think of to trap heat. Snagging all of the bedding and clothing that wasn’t theirs that had survived the wreck, Samtel and Lena taped it to the walls, floor, and ceiling. With only one fully effective arm, Samtel stuck to handling the floor and the lower walls while Lena covered the higher sections as well as the ceiling. Old towels and rags were stuffed into the gaps. It was slow work, made more cumbersome by the chilling temperatures, but Samtel was grateful for the activity to keep him warm and moving. As he finished taping the last tattered blanket into position on the floor, Samtel saw Lena exit the cabin. He decided not to question or follow her, knowing that he’d already made enough of a fool of himself. She returned a minute later with a pair of preserved food trays, handing one to him wordlessly. “Thank you,” Samtel returned as amiably as he could manage. She still said nothing, but plopped an insulated flask down between them. “There’s only one of these,” she told him. “The rest of them are either broken or buried.” “I guess we’ll have to share,” Samtel replied simply. “Does that bother you?” “No,” she said shortly, taking a sip of the water. The curtness in her tone signaled Samtel to abandon any further attempts at conversation. She was obviously still upset and nothing he had said to her thus far had done much to improve his standing. The food was unimpressive but better than their previous meal and the water was fresh. Samtel figured he would enjoy that luxury while it lasted. However, the ambient temperature continued to fall. Even with all of their warmest clothing on, Samtel still felt the chill seeping into their cabin, sapping the heat from their bodies. “It’s going to get colder,” he noted. “Maybe we should have insulated the crew lounge and just stayed there instead, using the spillage heat from the generators.” “It wouldn’t have worked,” Lena replied bluntly. Samtel sighed. “And why not?” he asked, more out of a morbid curiosity than from any desire to incite a challenge which he knew he would lose. “There are too many exits and entrances from the crew lounge,” she told him, her voice laced with condescension. “Too many vents to insulate. We’d get more heat, but we’d also get more leakage.” “Oh.” That was enough, he figured. He’d given his best shot at trying to talk to Lena, but she’d shoved him off like a bouncer at a cantina pushing off a drunk. Enough was enough. Samtel moved over to the locker where he’d stuffed all his personal effects that remained after the crash. Opening it as best as he could while hindered by the thick gloves, he pulled out a miniature holodisplay. Sitting on his mattress and thumbing the display on, he smiled as the holos sprang up, one after another, reminding him of distant memories and happier days. He’d saved for this particular model, one that could hold up to 300 holos, and he’d already filled over half of them since buying the display last year. He didn’t know how long he watched them cycle through the various holos stored in the memory, nor did he realize that Lena had been watching him. “Are you checking that for a usable power source, or just reminiscing?” she asked. “For the moment, reminiscing,” he replied without bothering to look at her. “Do you mind?” “No.” Samtel took her reply as a sign that the conversation was over, not that he had been paying attention to her much in the first place. His fixation was on the holo that had just popped up—a smiling, raven-haired young woman looking over her shoulder, wearing a midnight blue dress. “Is that your girl back home?” Lena asked. “Hmmm?” Samtel inquired, not realizing that she’d been standing behind him. “The girl in the holo,” Lena repeated. “Is that your girlfriend?” A fresh wave of grief welled up in Samtel at the answer he was about to give. It was sudden, but the sting he felt told him that the wound was still fresh enough to hurt when touched. He almost choked up, but managed to keep his composure. “Was,” he said after a second to recover his voice. “I’m sorry,” Lena said consolingly. “It's not really any of my . . .” “She died,” Samtel cut her off. “It was a type of fast-spreading cancer, one that the MD-droids didn’t detect until too late. It’s been three years now.” “What was her name?” Lena asked. “Doesn’t really matter now, does it?” he answered curtly. Saying her name was hard enough for Samtel and he covered the sudden reminder of the grief with gruffness. Lena caught the hint, intuiting from his voice that she should back off. “I’m sorry,” Lena apologized. There wasn’t much else she could say, but she laid her hand on his shoulder for a moment and then walked off, leaving Samtel to his own thoughts, which were a mix of sorrow for his loss and berating himself for barking at her. They spent the rest of the “day” avoiding each other, trying to be useful around the ship in their own way. Lena attempted to work on the generators to coax more power out of them while Samtel went checking through the storage compartments that weren’t utterly ruined to see if there was anything else of value. It was a silent, dark seven hours spent toiling in the frozen ship, enduring air so cold that Samtel could almost feel his breath condensing and freezing to his face. One question kept plaguing throughout his work, though. Why had Lena asked him about his personal life? She’d been distant previously, uninterested in talking to him about anything but their survival and somewhat belligerently at that. Was she lonely? Samtel doubted that notion, and even if she was, he was probably the last person that she’d seek for conversation. With a note of dour humor, he reflected that at the present moment, he was the last person around. The grim introspection did little to answer his question and it kept circulating through his mind until it finally hit him. He had a connection back to his previous life. His mementos, his effects were still intact. Lena’s cabin had been more or less crushed and burned, all her links back to life before the crash obliterated. Maybe she was jealous that he had those reminders, or at least wished she had some of her own. With that thought in mind, Samtel glanced at his chrono. He still had some time before they ate their next meal and went to sleep. Finding his way to Lena’s cabin, he crawled through the crumpled doorway, holding up a glowrod to help him see through the dusty gloom. It was bitingly cold and Samtel felt his boots step on various pieces of debris. Kneeling down, he probed the detritus, looking for anything that might have been of personal value to Lena. The motion wasn’t particularly pleasant and the dust set him to coughing numerous times, but eventually he found a few things, which he stuffed into a belt pouch. He didn’t know if they had any real significance to her, but figured that she’d be happy to see anything from her cabin that had survived the fire. His eyes lit up when he found her holodisplay, a simpler model than his, which had been destroyed by the fire. Undeterred, Samtel pried open the melted casing to check the internal memory. His eyes lit up with excitement as he extracted the still-intact chip from its housing and stuffed it into his belt pouch. His mission complete, he headed to the galley and retrieved an item he’d been repairing earlier, along with some other consumables. He walked into the crew lounge to find Lena tinkering with one of the generators. “I’ll have dinner ready soon,” he told her. “Whenever you’re finished, that is.” Thirty minutes later, Samtel was presiding over a sweet-smelling soup warming on the portable heater he’d managed to fix, one that they typically used for hiking expeditions while exploring planets. The deep purple soup looked weird and certainly wasn’t anything he’d recommend, but it didn’t taste horrible and it was hot. Lena entered shortly after, looking surprised to see Samtel kneeling by the heater. “Where did you get that?” she asked. “Found it in the storage compartments, took me all day to fix it,” he replied, still stirring the soup. “I think it’s about ready.” He dished out two bowls of the steaming liquid, taking one for himself. “There’s only one spoon,” he told her apologetically. “You can have it if you want.” “I’m fine with sipping it,” she said. “Anything hot sounds good right now.” “It is pretty warm,” Samtel warned her. “Don’t burn yourself.” As it turned out, his warning went unheeded as they both managed to thoroughly scorch their tongues and roofs of their mouth on the soup, but as far as meals eaten while stranded on a barren planet went, it wasn’t too bad. The soup was sweet, despite being based on nerf stock and Samtel was skeptical of the dried herbs floating in it from a seasoning packet he’d tossed in, yet he slurped it up greedily. “And now,” Samtel said, “it is time for surprises.” “Surprises?” Lena inquired quizzically. “Yes,” Samtel informed her. “I’ll start.” He produced a thin flask from behind him. “Is that . . .?” Lena started to ask. “Yes, I’m pretty sure it’s intoxicating and I’m even surer that there’s enough for both of us,” he replied. Opening the flask, he hoisted it aloft. “To our shipmates who’ve taken the final leap,” he pronounced, then took a swig. Whatever it was, some kind of brandy, it was stiff and burned when he drank it, but it made him feel warm, complementing the heat from the soup. He passed the flask to Lena. “To life,” she said, then took a drink of her own. “That hit the spot,” Samtel commented, then began fishing in his belt pouch. “This was good, thank you,” Lena said, almost a bit abashedly. “I’m not done,” Samtel told her. Retrieving several items from his belt pouch, he laid them out for Lena to see. In hindsight, it wasn’t much. A comb he’d found fallen behind the ruins of the desk, a single earring that had been swept underneath the wreck of her bed, a datacard that wasn’t completely burned, and of course, the chip. “What is all this stuff?” Lena asked. “It’s yours, I presume,” Samtel told her. “I figured you might want to have it back. Especially since most of the rest of it was destroyed.” “Well . . . yes,” she admitted, tracing one gloved finger over the comb. “Thank you.” “Let me show you this,” Samtel said, grabbing his holodisplay. He turned it off, flipped it over, and replaced his memory chip with hers, mentally crossing his fingers as he re-activated the device. To his delight, it came alive, and while the holos were a little fuzzy and some of them didn’t project properly, there were sixteen that were good enough to see clearly. Sixteen links to Lena’s life that he’d resurrected for her. And for once, she was impressed. “Thank you,” she said simply, clutching the holodisplay as if it were priceless. “Thank you so much.” “Want to tell me about them?” he asked gently, sensing a change in her mood and that she might be receptive to conversation. “Sure,” she said. Sitting side by side, she told him about each holo, who was in it, where they were, when it happened. Once she was done, he put his memory chip back in the device and told his stories. Blissfully unaware of the time, they talked for hours, and in those hours came to know each more for who they really were, instead of just two crewmembers with very little in common aside from serving on the same ship and now stranded on a desolate world. Liberal imbibing from the flask helped lower their emotional barriers as well, Samtel noted. “Thanks for showing me that,” Lena told him as he shut down the display. “You’re welcome,” Samtel replied. He checked the temperature while she carried the dishes back to the galley. “Wow,” he said when she returned. “Twenty-five below, even in here. It’s still getting colder.” “I know,” Lena answered, clapping her hands together to try and restore some life to her numbed fingers. “I was freezing last ‘night.’” “I’m sorry,” Samtel told her. “Do you want me to put the food heater by your bed and leave it on?” “No,” she answered. “We don’t want to waste it if I can handle the cold.” “Is there any other way I can help? Do you want some of my blankets?” “No,” she said. “There is one thing, but it’s a little awkward.” “Try me.” “We keep each other warm. If we’re lying next to each other, we can both use all the blankets and keep as much body heat trapped as possible. It’s more efficient, but I didn’t want to impose . . .” She thinks a little cuddle is imposing? Samtel thought. Outwardly, though, he shrugged nonchalantly. “No, that’s fine. You’re right, it is more efficient.” He took off his boots and sat on his mattress while Lena passed him the blankets and jackets from her bed. “We’ve been sitting here for a few hours already, so this one is warmer,” she explained. A few minutes later, Samtel and Lena were lying under the six layers of insulation they had managed to pile over themselves, plus all their heavy clothing. She was right; it was indeed much warmer, though Samtel could still feel the chill. “Well, I guess that’s good night,” Samtel said, flipping off the glowlamp that illuminated the cabin. Rolling over so he was back-to-back with her, he found that sleep came faster than it had the previous night. The gentle rise and fall of her breathing helped lull off him into unconsciousness and the added warmth was welcome, too. Amazing how four layers of clothing still didn’t trap all of one’s body heat. Samtel awoke in the middle of the ‘night’ to find that something was wrong. Lena was still lying next to him, shivering violently despite the added insulation. She was curled up tightly, her legs pulled up and arms wrapped around her in an attempt to contain more heat. He pitied her, knowing how uncomfortable that would be. He pulled half of the outer blanket from himself and doubled it over her for added insulation, but felt that wouldn’t make a difference. On an impulse, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to himself until she was snug. She subconsciously relaxed and her shivering lessened after a few minutes, though Samtel made a mental note to wake up a few minutes earlier to avoid offending her. The next several hours passed in a relatively peaceful sleep, absent of the haunting nightmares that had plagued them during their last attempt at rest. Samtel awoke several hours later, refreshed despite the frigid air drifting through the gap in the blankets left intentionally so he could breathe. Its sharp sting helped wake him up as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Lena was still asleep, so he carefully maneuvered his way out of the bed, sticking his feet into his boots. He winced as the cold boots make contact with his feet, as the chill still steeped through the three layers of socks he was wearing. Muttering an imprecation about cold weather under his breath, he rearranged the blankets to keep Lena warm and made his way to the galley in search of breakfast. By the time Lena awoke, Samtel had managed to heat up two ration packs to the point where they were closer to a cold paste instead of a rock-hard frozen solid. They ate their meal in silence, too cold to bother with much conversation. “How’d you sleep?” Samtel asked finally. “Better, thank you. And you?” “Same.” “Thanks for breakfast.” “Sure thing.” It was simply too cold for much conversation, much less any non-essential activity. They spent the rest of their waking hours resealing the insulation. At one point, Lena figured out a way to determine how long the planet’s night was. Going outside, she measured the position of several stars relative to the planet’s horizon. The next evening, she repeated the process, measuring the angular displacement of the stars. “The good news is, it seems like we only have about three more Coruscant days of this night,” she reported. “And the bad news?” “Well, as this planet’s day begins, there’s probably going to be some extreme weather phenomena associated with such a drastic temperature change. There could be some severe storms.” “I can hardly wait,” Samtel replied. “I guess that means we should check the outside of the ship and make sure we don’t get flooded if it does start raining.” The process was slow and painstaking in the subzero temperatures, but over the next four Coruscant days, they managed to patch together the remaining leaks and breaches in the hull as well as reinforcing existing seals. The cold hampered their efforts, limiting them to work periods of only a couple hours before they were forced to return to shelter and warm up. The icy blasts of wind that came howling through the bare forests sapped their energy away every minute they were outside the cabin, slicing through their insulating clothing like it wasn’t even there. The ubiquitous darkness did little to improve their conditions, while a combination of the higher gravity and low temperatures made breathing difficult. Yet Samtel and Lena endured it, their hope reassured by thoughts of forthcoming warmer temperatures. Her predictions proved correct, as on the seventh standard day since their crash, a massive storm front blew in over the crashed ship. Howling winds pounded at the derelict and two-centimeter-round hail pounded against the metal sides of the ship with an incessant staccato cadence. When the hail relented temporarily, Samtel and Lena saw that it had simply shifted to sleet. Watching the snow from the ruined cockpit, still bundled up and sipping on the flask of brandy, they simply rejoiced, because the shift to sleet signified that warmer temperatures were on their way after a full standard week of bitingly cold weather. The sleet eventually shifted to rain. The ambient temperature increased over the next twenty-four hours as the steady downpour, mixed with the melted remains of the hail and sleet, flooded the land. Lena rigged up the auxiliary generators to power the ship’s water intake system while Samtel was able to examine the ship’s water recycling system and repair it to the point of partial functionality. While the rain was fairly polluted with various molecules, the filtration system was able to purify it to potable levels and the recycling system could provide them with enough water to last quite some time. For the foreseeable future, that at least was one need they would no longer have to ration. With warmer temperatures, Samtel took this opportunity to re-tape his still-tender ribs and shed the spray splint from his arm. They slowly shed their heavy layers of clothing as the temperature steadily climbed over thirty degrees. For the first time since the day of their landing, they finally saw the sun peeking over the horizon, shedding natural light on a world that had been steeped in darkness for the last seven standard days. With its warming rays came a change in the trees. The pods that Lena had noticed opened up to reveal buds and sickly green leaves. “Interesting,” she noted. “It’s almost like each day has its own seasons because they last so long.” “Well, be careful,” Samtel noted. “The allergens are probably back in full force and if there’s any wildlife on this planet, it’s probably waking up . . . and hungry.” “That’s not the only thing to worry about,” Lena added. “Remember how cold it got? I think we’re about to experience the other side of that extreme.” “Good thing we stored all that water,” Samtel replied. “If you’re right, we’re going to need it.” As Samtel feared, she was right. In just three standard days, the planet had gone from well below zero to temperatures approaching forty degrees. The air was humid, saturated with moisture from the rains and not even the air filters could keep out the sticky mugginess that had settled over the planet. Samtel and Lena adapted as best as they could, hydrating as much as possible to combat the incessant sweating. Whereas before, four or five layers of heavy clothing had been absolutely necessary, lighter garments were now in order. Lena stuck with loose pants and an abbreviated top, while Samtel opted for a simple short-sleeved shirt and trousers. To an extent, it almost didn’t matter, because they were completely soaked with their own sweat now anyway, and with no way to wash their clothing, it was pointless to change their outfits. Instead, they suffered through the rank smell of unwashed bodies and the salt encrusted in the creases of their clothes. The heat was oppressive, the humidity stifling. “You know, maybe the cold wasn’t so bad after all,” Samtel commented as he ran his hands through his sodden hair. Lena started to reply, but was cut off by a buzzing sound as some kind of insect whizzed through the air past her face. “Wait, how did that get in here?” she demanded. “I dunno, but we better find out before we start swelling up and suffocating,” Samtel replied worriedly. Forcing themselves to work quickly despite the blanket of stagnant, foul-smelling air inside the wreck, they set about finding the leaks as more insects buzzed their way through newly-torn gaps in the sealing. They eventually found three, two that appeared to be caused by storm damage, and one that seemed to be due to insects chewing on the space tape. All three gaps were hastily reinforced, but by the time they were finished, their skin was red and puffy, their breathing labored due to the allergens floating in the air. Gasping for breath, Lena leaned heavily against a ruined bulkhead, stirring up a small group of the three-centimeter bugs that had been lurking there. Oblivious to their presence, she paid them no need as she tried to breathe, but they were clearly agitated by her presence. One of them alighted on her stomach. She immediately swatted it away, but the creature hung on tenaciously. Samtel watched in horror as it sank a needle-pointed stinger into her, eliciting a cry of pain. She smacked at it harder this time, finally knocking it to the ground. One hand clutching at her stomach, she stomped viciously on the creature, splattering it on the deck. That proved to be a mistake. A putrid aroma began wafting from the crushed insect, which apparently contained some kind of pheromone that the other creatures inside the ship reacted violently to. They immediately began swarming, seeking out anything that had the death pheromones on it—which in this case meant Lena. As another one plunged its stinger into the back of her shoulder, Samtel realized that the insects were after her. “Don’t move!” he called as he slowly unbuckled his belt. “I apologize in advance for what I’m about to do.” “What are you—?” she started, only to be immediately cut off as Samtel whacked the insect—and by extension her shoulder—with the belt. While he successfully destroyed her assailant, he saw from the tears welling up in her eyes and a sizable red mark that he’d also hurt her. However, the droning sound of several more insects told him that there was little time to waste in apologies. He tossed aside his belt. “Get to the cabin!” he shouted. “Seal it off and wait for me!” Unable to reply due to being focused on battling the pain in her stomach and shoulder, Lena nodded and staggered off while Samtel set out on a bug-squashing campaign once she was safely inside the cabin, the door sealed off. In lieu of Lena, the belt he’d thrown on the ground served to attract the insects, who fell to attacking it with their stingers. Samtel retaliated with a general-purpose insecticide. One by one, the insects twitched and died when faced with his liberal application of chemical weaponry. Just as he was finishing up, he heard a pained yelp from inside the cabin. Unsealing the door and rushing inside, he saw that one of the insects was firmly transfixed to Lena’s calf, stabbing her even through her clothing. She was clutching at her leg, rolling around ineffectually, too overcome by the pain to fight back. Cursing loudly, Samtel slapped the insect off with his belt into a corner of the room before hosing it down with insecticide. Fighting back tears, she pointed to her boot, pounding her fist on the mattress in agony. Guessing what she meant, Samtel pulled her left boot off to find yet another one of the insects inside, clinging ferociously to her ankle. Another swat and spray of insecticide killed that one as well. Samtel looked around, listening for more insects. Satisfied that none of them were in the cabin, he immediately resealed the door and opened up the medkit. “Talk to me, Lena,” he said. “Where did they get you?’ “Shoulder. Leg. Ankle. Stomach,” she bit out through gritted teeth. “All right, all right,” Samtel replied. Peeling back her shirt to expose her belly, he was surprised to find no major wound, just a small red mark where the stinger had pricked her. Rolling up her pants leg and removing her socks, he found that the other wounds were similarly minor. “Doesn’t look too bad,” he remarked. “Let me just see about cleaning this up and patching it . . . get some painkillers for you also.” “No,” Lena rasped. “Poison.” “Are you sure?” Samtel replied concernedly. She nodded, then doubled up in pain. “Feels like fire. Cauterize all the bites,” she told him, her face a rictus of pain. “Do it fast and deep, before it spreads.” “If you’re sure,” Samtel answered, a worried look on his face. It was not an order he relished carrying out, but he trusted Lena if she said that was what he needed to do. Retrieving a metal rod from the wreckage, he took it to a ruined corridor they weren’t using and shot the end of it with a blaster pistol twice, until the metal was glowing red hot. Returning to the cabin with his smoldering instrument, Samtel knelt down beside her. He loaded a hypo with an analgesic, but Lena weakly laid one hand on his arm, stopping him. “Don’t know how it reacts with poison. Don’t give me that.” “Lena . . .” Samtel replied uncertainly. “This is going to hurt like nothing else. You should let me give you this.” “No,” she insisted hoarsely. “It already hurts. A little more won’t matter. Go ahead.” Samtel winced as he readied himself to apply the searing metal to the stinger marks. He hesitated, then set down the rod. “What are you doing?” Lena demanded. He took her hand and clasped it around his wrist. “I can’t make this hurt any less,” he told her. “But I can give you some way to let it out.” He took a deep breath. “Are you ready?” She nodded. Samtel wiped the sweat from his brow, then set about his unpleasant task. Immediately, his nostrils were affronted by the smell of burning flesh as he applied the cauterizing metal to her calf. Lena let out a stifled cry and clamped down on his wrist in a crushing grip. He shook his head and gently lifted her ankle, grimacing as he realized it was the ankle she had already sprained. Well, waiting around wouldn’t make it any better. The faint sizzling sound and the same stink as he applied the metal weren’t any more pleasant the second time around. Samtel brought his glowing instrument up to her abdomen, then paused. “This isn’t going to work,” he said, fingers probing the stinger mark. “There’s some of it still inside.” “Well then get it out,” she said through gritted teeth. “I might end up driving it in further,” he said. “If it punctures an internal organ, it could kill you.” “Samtel, it’s already killing me,” she told him weakly. “I’d rather you tried. Please.” “All right,” he said. Fishing out a laser scalpel from the medkit, he carefully opened up a slit around the stinger until he could see the tiny dark needle against the reddish background of her muscle and tissue. Rivulets of blood dripped from the wound, complicating the matter. Samtel found that his hands were shaking too hard to grip the forceps he’d selected. Mopping his brow yet again with his blood-stained hands, he forced them to stop moving, then reached with the forceps to snag the stinger. It resisted at first, but eventually came out, tearing the wound further due to the jagged serrations on the end of it. Lena’s grip on his wrist went limp, her hand falling to the deck. Samtel worriedly checked her breathing and was relieved to find that she was just passed out. At least he didn’t have to worry about inflicting more pain at this point. He quickly cauterized the wound, then closed it as best as he could, applying a sizable patch of synthflesh over the incision. Leaning the unconscious woman forward, he finished cauterizing the shoulder wound, patched up all of the stings with bacta bandages, then injected her with a concentrated vitamin solution designed to bolster the immune system. Picking her up, he gently laid her on her bed, covering her with a light sheet. She was pale and wan, which Samtel knew wasn’t a good sign, but there was nothing more he could do for her at the moment. Instead, pulling on his heaviest jacket, pants, gloves, and hat, he turned to the door, insecticide and belt at the ready. The next hour was spent combing every cubic centimeter of the ship for more of the swarming insects. He found eleven of them in total, but managed to avoid being stung by virtue of his protective clothing. Samtel exterminated them with a vengeance, smashing them into the deck with his belt, hosing them down with deadly chemicals. Anger had been ignited within him at these creatures, for daring to destroy the delicate equilibrium and existence that he and Lena had labored so hard to create, for daring to hurt her. Part of him wished that he had been the one who had been stung. Lena was better-trained to survive, knew what to do in more scenarios than him. All he could do was be strong for her and tend to her as best as he could. When he returned, he saw that Lena’s condition hadn’t improved appreciably. If anything, she looked paler than before. Laying a filthy hand on her forehead, he found that she was burning up. Her eyes flickered open weakly. “Samtel,” she moaned. “I think I’m going to . . .” Before she could finish her sentence, the involuntary refluxes of her diaphragm took over, heaving the contents of her stomach out of her mouth as quickly as possible. And that was just the beginning. Her fever raged unabated, leaving her burning up, while her digestive system, writhing in the effects of the insect venom, refused to keep anything down and seemed intent on emptying anything in her system as quickly as possible. Twice, her stomach wound opened up again. Finally, there was nothing left in her body to flush, yet she was still tormented by stomach spasms. Dehydrated and feverish, she lay there in agony in the burning heat of the planet’s day. Samtel was kept busy for hours on end cleaning up the mess in between trying to spoon-feed her liquids and keeping her cool by soaking an old shirt in water and applying the damp material to her face. “Don’t you dare die on me,” he warned the unconscious woman. “You’re not getting out of this that easily.” She gave no reply, staring glassy-eyed at the ceiling. He checked her pulse; she still was alive, but the fever burned within her. Samtel was desperate to find some way to lower it before her body literally torched its own cells. He peeled off most of her clothing, then soaked a sheet in water and laid it over her. Noting how fast she was losing fluids due to dehydration, he found an emergency intravenous line in one of the medical kits and ran it from a sizable supply of saline fluid into her arm. Chugging down another bottle of water himself to stay hydrated in the sweltering heat, Samtel sat at her side, at a loss for what else to do. He reached out with one hand and stroked her cheek. “Look, Lena, you’re going to get through this,” he told her. “You have to.” She gave no reply, helpless in the clutches of the venom. “You can’t leave me here alone,” Samtel whispered as he took her sweaty hand in his own and held it. Somehow, that thought was scarier than even the possibility of even his own death. To be alone, abandoned to the merciless hostility of the planet, was a tormenting concept. To lose the person who had helped keep him alive was an equally frightening idea. And somewhere deep inside his spirit, there was a spark of feeling for her, an emotional attachment that lingered between platonic and something more. As if in response, he felt her stiffen and stir. Samtel leaned forward to see if she was waking up, but her motions were too spasmodic, too uncontrolled to be conscious. He laid one finger across her wrist to check her pulse—it was virtually nonexistent. She was going into cardiac arrest, no longer breathing. “Kriff it, what kind of answer is that?!” Samtel shouted angrily at the air as he scrambled for the medkit. Retrieving the largest spray hypo, he loaded it with a full epinephrine dose as quickly as he could with his shaking hands. “Let’s hope this works,” he said to himself. With one hand on the injector plate on the back, he pulled aside the sheet and injected the epinephrine directly into her heart. Recalling his first aid training, Samtel started rescue breathing, alternating exhaling air into her lungs with chest compressions in an attempt to resuscitate her. Each second ticked by with agonizing slowness. “Come on,” Samtel muttered. “Just start breathing again.” Thirty seconds passed since he’d administered the injection. Then forty. Samtel became increasingly agitated, venting his frustration by applying more pressure on his compressions, no longer caring if he bruised her ribs. “Breathe. Breathe, dammit!” Fifty seconds. Every second that she went without vital oxygen, that her heart remained still, was depriving her brain of life-giving nutrients. Every second increased the likelihood and rate of her cells dying. Samtel could see the remnants of color receding from her face even as he went down for another exhalation of air. Then, finally, he got a response as she coughed in his face. He backed away, wiping himself off with his shirtsleeve, just relieved that she was breathing again. A quick check of her pulse told him that her heartbeat had returned. Lena’s eyes fluttered and she blinked twice. “What happened?” she asked. “Don’t try to talk,” Samtel instructed her. “Just rest and focus on breathing.” “What happened?” she insisted hoarsely. “What happened was you scared me,” he replied. “Your heart stopped beating.” “My ribs hurt,” she complained. “That was my fault,” Samtel answered. “Chest compressions from rescue breathing. You can get me back after you get better.” Taking the opportunity to pour the last of their pre-packaged purified water into her intravenous drip, Samtel smiled for the first time in days. “Good to have you back,” he said, checking her forehead. She was still warm, but not as much as in previous hours. “The fever’s gone down a bit,” Samtel informed her. “Hopefully you’ll be better soon.” “Me too,” she croaked, then looked down. “I seem to be missing some of my clothes. Care to explain?” “Well . . . uh . . . they’re around,” he replied abashedly. “Had to get your temperature down somehow.” “I’m sure that’s the explanation,” she answered sarcastically. Samtel’s face flushed red with embarrassment. “You can be a smartnerf after you’re better,” he told her, too relieved by her recovery to be annoyed or even tired. “Just rest for now. With any luck, you’ll be up in another forty hours or so.” With that, Lena nodded her assent and laid her head back, closing her eyes in a more restful sleep than the feverish fits that were all she’d experienced for the last seventy hours or so. Samtel also took the opportunity to rest for more than a couple of hours at a time after sixty hours of prolonged vigilance at Lena’s side. Of course, it wasn’t simply that easy. Lena’s battle against the insect venom had taken all of the planet’s day and the temperature was already dropping quickly. The cold temperatures aggravated the lingering effects of the venom, leaving her bedridden and sick for another six standard days. Thankfully the condition was not as severe as it had been previously, allowing Samtel the freedom to rest and make small repairs without fearing for her life in his absence. Still, as he lay next to her when sleeping, he felt her ragged breathing and knew she was suffering. Though she protested whenever she noticed him doing it, he slowly dosed her with the last of their painkillers by slipping them into her intravenous line. Though the subzero temperatures, poor food quality, and insufficient water—the recycling system could not operate in such cold conditions—slowed the process, Lena did eventually recuperate, finally leaving the bed where she’d lain helplessly for nearly two standard weeks just as the planet began warming up again. “I suppose this makes it the second full day we’ve been here,” Samtel remarked. “Hard to believe it’s more like three standard weeks.” “That has me worried,” Lena replied. “Aren’t we running low on food?” “Yes and no,” Samtel said. “We have about ten days of food left, a bit more than we thought since you haven’t eaten much recently. We could probably stretch it out to two standard weeks.” “What happens then?” Lena asked him. Samtel was surprised by her question, since she’d been the authority figure since they’d landed, so sure of herself, so confident. Perhaps being a helpless convalescent, incapacitated and nearly killed by a few insect bites had worn down her surety. Perhaps she had merely thought of the question already and wanted to hear if he had any alternate ideas. “I don’t know,” he answered simply. “But we’ll face it together.” “I’ve been thinking about that,” she said. “Couldn’t we try and get a message out?” “How do you propose doing that?” Samtel asked. “It’s not like the comms are working?” “Not the long-range ones, no, but what about the short-range transmitters? Even if it’s sub-light-speed, we might be able to get a message out if the Sunflash is looking for us and they’re in the vicinity of a few light days. And I’m sure they are.” “I’m down for it if you can get them patched together,” Samtel answered. “Beats sitting around here waiting for the food to run out.” “I’ll see what I can do with it,” Lena replied. “Okay, just don’t overdo it,” Samtel said. “I’ll see what I can do to improve the water system. I’m afraid that graywater is all that’s left.” He was referring to water that had been processed and recycled through the ship’s limited recycling systems. The treatment and purification process left the water an unsavory gray color, as well as a flat, metallic taste. Normally, the treatment process left less noticeable side effects but the damaged recycling systems and limited power availability meant that the water was far from ideal. While still potable, it was an unpleasant drinking experience at best. “We’ll make do,” Lena told him. As the planet warmed up, Samtel and Lena once again endured the sticky humidity and sweltering heat of the day. Dehydration, particularly with such limited water reserves available, posed a particular problem, and the ship’s dehumidifiers were inoperable. Unfortunately, that meant that water lost via perspiration was irrecoverable, resulting in a net water loss each hour that they suffered through the heat. Finishing up a replacement of one of the water filters that kept them supplied with the vital liquid, Samtel emerged to hear a string of frustrated curses from the forward station where Lena was working on the communications system. Wiping the grime off his hands with a rag, he walked up to investigate. Lena was knelt down by the communications array, her head and arms buried inside a compartment as she adjusted some part of the system. “Not going well, I take it?” he asked, stepping over a convoluted pile of cables running from the generator assembly. “Not exactly,” Lena replied with considerable exasperation. “The system says it’s working, but I can’t get a signal other than static. Not even background noise from space.” “Are you sure it’s working?” Samtel inquired. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that,” she answered irritably. “Are there any other questions, or can I get back to work?” “Well, if it’s working, what about interference?” Samtel asked. “Interference from what exactly?” Lena demanded. “In case you haven’t noticed, there isn’t an abundance of signals or technology here to generate such interference.” “What about the trees?” Samtel asked nonchalantly. “If they had the right metallic content and reacted appropriately to the sunlight or the planet’s magnetic field, that could create interference, right?” Lena poked her head out of the compartment and squinted up at him. “The trees?” she asked skeptically. “I’ve heard of similar things happening on other planets,” he answered. “High metallic content in the leaves of Myrkr makes it hard to track or send any kind of signal. Could be the same here.” “It’s a possibility,” she admitted. “And given the rest of the nasty surprises this planet has already displayed, it wouldn’t be surprising. It’s like this place was designed to hate humans or something.” “We can always find out,” Samtel told her. “I can patch up the vac suits and then we explore a little. From the survey of this planet we did while in orbit, I know there’s a clearing just a couple kilometers north of here. There should be less interference from the trees there.” “Sounds good,” Lena answered. “Let me know when you’re done; I’ll be here making sure that the ship isn’t lying to me about the communications system working.” An hour later, Samtel had the ship’s two vac suits reasonably patched together and filled with enough pressurized air to last three hours. “Won’t be comfortable, but they’ll keep us breathing. I had to siphon the air from the breath mask reserve tanks, so there’s only two of those left.” “Couldn’t you just refill them in case we need them?” “Not without power.” “Good point.” They struggled into the bulky suits, with Lena stowing her communications gear into a bag that she carried. Samtel had also filled both of the internal reservoirs of the suits with water, so they could rehydrate while exploring. “I tested the comlink in your suit earlier, but go ahead and make sure it still works,” Samtel told her as he pulled on his gloves. “Comm check, testing.” “All good here.” “Good,” Lena replied. Opening up a storage compartment, Samtel retrieved a hefty utility belt and strapped it on. In addition to the standard tools and gear he kept stowed on it, Samtel slid a small blaster pistol and a hefty vibroblade into holsters on the belt. “Weapons? Do you think we’ll need them?” Lena asked. “Well,” Samtel reflected. “This planet has already broken four of my bones, nearly killed you, and has also alternately frozen, choked, and scorched both of us. Based on that charming history, I’d be willing to bet it’s going to try eating us too. Here, here’s one for you.” He handed her an undersized blaster pistol. “I hope you don’t expect me to use this,” Lena said. “I’ve had less than one hour of training and practice on these.” “Here,” Samtel told her, taking the weapon from her. He hefted the blaster, demonstrating how to hold it. “Hold it like this, line up the front and back sights, then squeeze the trigger. Keep shooting until you’re done, you’ve got at least thirty blasts in there. Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to shoot, don’t point it at anything you don’t intend to blast. Keep it in the holster unless you think there’s a threat, otherwise point it at the ground or up in the sky.” “Okay, got it,” Lena replied, accepting the proffered weapon and sliding it into a holster on her belt. “How do you know all that about blasters?” “You learn this kind of stuff when they train you to be a planetary mapper,” Samtel said. “I’m not as handy inside a spaceship, but I do okay on the ground. Also, a holographic memory helps.” “I bet it does,” Lena commented drily, hiding that she was actually impressed. Proceeding to the airlock, they cycled it manually, then stepped out into the forest that surrounded the wrecked ship. The forest was now alive, the pods opened up on the trees to reveal clusters of drooping foliage mixed with sickly yellow blossoms. It was relatively silent, with no sounds of avians or other wildlife. The undergrowth was mostly some kind of leafy fern clustered primarily around the trees and an odd vine that sported two-centimeter thorns and seemed to grow in star-shaped patterns on the ground. “That’s odd, the damage doesn’t seem as bad from out here,” Samtel remarked. “Jebvui did a good job setting the ship down,” Lena concurred. There was a moment of silence as they remembered their fallen captain, heads bowed as they stood motionless in honor of the memory of her sacrifice was revived. The wind rustled through the trees with a subdued howl, as if it too was mourning Jebvui. Then abruptly, Samtel stirred and glanced at his air supply gauge. Time was ticking. “All right, let’s go,” Samtel said. “The clearing is up this way.” He pointed to the north, through a thicket of the trees. The woods were fairly dense, without a path, but not so dense that they presented an impassable barrier. In most cases, Samtel and Lena were able to push through the trees and ferns without having to clear the brush with Samtel’s vibroblade. “Strange that we haven’t seen any signs of animal life,” Lena commented. “You’d think a planet this alive would have some kind of animals.” “That could mean a couple of things. Either the planet has really vicious plants or all the nasty predators come out at night,” Samtel replied cheerily. “There’s a comforting thought,” Lena grumped. “When it comes to alien planets, it pays to stock up on a healthy dose of pessimism,” Samtel answered, happy to finally be in his element. The vac suits were constricting and cumbersome, but they afforded protection from the planet’s allergens, Samtel reflected as he squeezed through a gap between a pair of the trees. The going was slow, but thanks to the fairly low density of trees in the forest, it was bearable. Thankfully, the cooling systems in the suits still worked, as the temperature was approximately forty-five degrees, hot enough to burn human skin within only a few minutes of exposure. Looking back over his shoulder to see how Lena was doing, he saw her knock away a cluster of vines that hung suspended from one of the trees. Having avoided touching the vines for his part, Samtel’s eyes widened as she made contact with the thorned plants. “Wait, stop!” he shouted. Too late. Immediately, the vines reacted, coiling around Lena’s neck, head, and upper body as they attempted to pierce her with the serrated edges on the thorns. She screamed in surprise as the vines jerked her, suit and all, off the ground to dangle suspended half a meter off of the forest floor. She struggled and thrashed, but the vines only drew tighter. “Hang on!” Samtel called. “Is your suit breached?” “No, no, it’s not,” she replied anxiously, “but I can’t get free.” “I think I can take care of that,” he told her. Whipping out his vibroblade, he pulled Lena’s belt, tugging her down with one hand while slicing through the vines carefully with his other hand. At first, other tendrils attempted to snake down around her, but Samtel chopped away until the thorny vines gave up. As the last vine gave way, releasing Lena to the ground, Samtel led her away from the vines. “Are you okay?” he asked. “I’m fine,” she said, though she was obviously shaken up. “I should have warned you,” Samtel berated himself. “Those vines look like some kind of predator plant. That’s why I was careful to not touch them. The way the thorns are arranged doesn’t make a lot of sense for defense, but it does if the plant grabs and strangles its victims.” “I never knew you could recognize that about plants just by looking at them,” Lena said. “Yeah, well, like I said, they teach you a lot in mapping school besides just scanning for useful features. Also, that does present a bigger problem.” “What’s that?” “Those vines wouldn’t have that mechanism if they didn’t have prey. That means somewhere out here is a creature big enough that the plant needs vines and thorns that big.” “Fantastic,” Lena said deadpan. “Stay sharp,” Samtel replied. “If your suit is still good, we have a couple more kilometers until we get to the clearing.” “I’m fine,” she said. “Let’s go.” Shouldering their packs, they started to go, when Samtel thought he heard something. “Did you hear that?” he asked. “Hear what?” Lena asked, looking around. “Like a vibrating sound, maybe some kind of high-pitched whistling sound?” Samtel replied. “No, nothing,” she answered. “Probably nothing then.” Just as the words left his mouth, the ground erupted in front of Samtel, throwing him backwards painfully to land on his back. A long, sinuous creature emerged, some kind of blind worm. It had four glistening fangs protruding from its head and was emitting some kind of high-pitched whistling. The worm undulated and swayed, its head aloft in the air as it listened for its prey. Samtel gasped, his eyes wide with terror, but remembered his training and froze, unmoving. “Don’t move,” Samtel instructed via comlink. “The worm hunts by sound.” However, Lena chose to disregard his instructions, slowly reaching for the blaster at her side. The worm immediately swiveled towards her and hissed. “No, don’t!” Samtel shouted. With one deft motion, he plucked his blaster from its holster, which caused the worm to pivot back towards him and drill its head down with blazing fast speed, fangs extended. Samtel rolled aside just in time as Lena fired, missing twice. The reports of the blaster echoed through the forest, causing the blindworm to screech and lash out towards her, advancing menacingly. However, Samtel had not been idle even as the creature threatened Lena. Taking careful aim, he fired three times, hitting the worm twice. It thrashed about dangerously for several seconds, then collapsed, dead. Samtel stood up slowly, brushing the muck and grime of the forest from his suit. “Well, that was close,” he said. “What was that?” Lena asked shakily, obviously frightened. “One of the local animals you were looking for, I presume,” Samtel answered, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Let’s just hope they don’t hunt in packs.” They heard no other whistling though, so they pressed on through the forest. They hadn’t taken five steps, though, when they heard a low growling. “Oh, that’s not good,” Samtel muttered, pulling his blaster. “I hear it too,” Lena whispered unnecessarily as she followed suit. Samtel and Lena stood quietly, weapons at the ready, looking around for any sign of danger. Unfortunately, they didn’t look up, which is why Samtel was completely unprepared when a ninety-kilo primate covered in razor-sharp plates pounced on him from the tree canopy from a height of at least five meters. The impact drove him into the ground and left him staring up at the face of a vicious monster well-equipped with sharp armor plates and retractable claws that slid out with an ominous shickk. The ape slashed at him, scoring his faceplate. Samtel was struggling to breathe, the wind knocked out of him from the creature’s initial attack, weakly fighting against the menacing beast. He heard Lena scream dimly over the comlink, but could hear little but the grunts of the primate and the sound of his own heartbeat. The beast’s weight bore down on him, crushing him into the ground and pinioning his right arm, which prevented him from reaching for his blaster. The razorape drew back its arm and stabbed at his shoulder, inflicting deep rents even in a vac suit built to withstand micrometeroids. It roared fiercely, stabbing again. This time, the clawed paw punched through the vac suit, tearing at his shoulder. He couldn’t see where Lena was, but trusted she wasn’t frozen with fear. He was a dead man if she couldn’t save them both. “Samtel!” Lena screamed again as the beast thrust its claws deeper, sensing that it had reached the flesh it sought. Samtel yelled in agony as the razorape mauled his left shoulder even while struggling to extract his blaster. The creature withdrew its arm, claws now stained bloodred, and swiped it across his throat. If it broke through that part of the vac suit, the wound would be almost instantly fatal. Samtel could feel his blood spurting from the deeply torn shoulder, could feel his own heart driving the blood from his system. The beast growled, licking its claws off as it prepared for the final blow. With no more energy to fight it off and unable to reach his blaster, Samtel was helpless. He tucked his chin, hoping to ward off one more blow, even though the creature would probably tear his face off instead. “Lena, help,” he stammered weakly even as he stared into the animal ferocity suffusing the razorape’s eyes. The creature drew back for a killing blow and Samtel braced himself for the impact. And then suddenly, Lena was there, planting her blaster on the side of the razorape’s skull. “Eat this,” she growled, holding down the trigger. There was a tremendous smell of burned flesh as the blaster bolts incinerated the beast’s skull and exploded in its brain. The creature shuddered and bucked as she destroyed its higher functions, then slumped over. With great effort, Lena shoved it off Samtel. “Stars above,” she breathed, looking at the wound. “Is it that bad?” Samtel asked, dreading her response. “No, you’ll be fine,” she told him briskly, reaching for the medpac on her belt. “That’s not a good answer. That’s never a good answer,” he moaned. Lena wasted no more time on words, staunching the bleeding swiftly, albeit painfully. Samtel could feel himself starting to swell up, but she dosed him with one of their remaining epinephrine shots. Still, he felt incredibly weak. Rolling his head over, he was surprised to see how much blood was spattered on the forest floor. His blood. That thought only made him dizzier and black spots started swimming their way across his vision. He thought he was hallucinating, as he felt the forest back away from him and start moving. Only a minute later did he realize that Lena had somehow picked him up and slung him over her shoulder, carrying him along unsteadily. His shoulder burned like fire where the claws had torn and gashed his flesh and he could feel blood leaking out from the wound and seeping into his vac suit. It was a full kilometer through entangled forest back to the crashed Quick Step, but somehow Lena managed to stagger back with Samtel, avoiding any further predator or vine attacks. She cycled them back through the airlocks, then laid him down on the lounge floor, pulling off the vac suit’s helmet and chest piece so he could breathe and she could have better access to the wound. While he was lying there, she pulled off her own gloves and helmet so that she could administer to his injury. Samtel was semi-conscious and in shock, his skin clammy and cool. He felt simultaneously exhausted as if he’d spent days running, while as thirsty as if he’d been stranded in a desert for months. Breathing became difficult, though he didn’t think he’d punctured a lung. “What happened?” he asked, disoriented, trying to look around. “Don’t move,” she told him, her expression showing obvious concern even as she pulled up the larger medkit from the ship’s supplies. Removing the temporary bandage she had applied to his shoulder, Lena was rewarded by blood spurting from the wound. “Shavit!” she swore. Samtel instantly felt dizzier and weaker, unable to move. “I can’t feel my arm,” he rasped. She laid a bandage on his shoulder and pressed down in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. “Hang on, Samtel,” she said, trying to smile down at him but unable to completely pull off the muscle motion due to the worry lines creasing her face. “I think the creature tore one of your arteries. If I can get it tied off, you’ll be okay,” she said, wiping off her hands with a sanitizer-sodden cloth. Reaching into the wound, she probed with a small instrument, eliciting a stifled gasp of pain from Samtel as it probed its way through the torn tissue. Lena carefully explored the wound, seeking the damaged artery that was issuing all the blood from the wound, losing the vital liquid faster than Samtel’s body could repair the damage. His head lolled back, eyes staring up blankly at the ceiling as she cautiously dug her finger into the injury. Waves of pain and shock threatened to consume him, dragging him into a black oblivion where time, life, existence ceased to matter. “Got it,” Lena pronounced triumphantly. She tossed the probe aside, trading it for a sonic scalpel. Inserting it into the bloody wound, she carefully pinched the severed artery together, sealing off the wound with the scalpel. Wrapping a synthflesh bandage around the freshly repaired blood vessel, she poured a small vial into the wound. “Bacta,” she explained. “We don’t have much left.” Samtel was delirious, though, his body shutting down from blood loss. He was bleeding out on the deck even as she repaired the wound. The ceiling spun around him and he could only barely hear her. The sounds of his own labored breathing reverberated through his skull, echoing in time with the dull thud of his heartbeat. Lena extracted a dermal regenerator from the medkit and placed it on the injury, then realized that Samtel was unresponsive. “Hey, Samtel, wake up,” she said. She tapped him on the side of his head lightly, trying to stir a response. Samtel was too far gone, though, his eyes staring off blankly. He was conscious but immobile, the last vestiges of life slipping away. He had lost too much blood and now his heart was having difficulty maintaining proper blood pressure as desanguinated as he was, his pulse weak and irregular. “No, no, no!” Lena muttered. “You saved me, now it’s my turn.” Using the sample analyzer from the medkit, she laved several drops of his blood into it, waiting a second for the device to process the results. “There’s still a chance I can save you,” she told him. “And I’m not giving up that easily.” Retrieving the intravenous line, she inserted a fresh needle on either end. One needle she jabbed into Samtel’s good arm, the other she stabbed into her own bicep. Gritting her teeth, she pumped her arm to stimulate the blood flow from her arm to his. “It’s crude, but our blood types just happened to work out so this won’t kill you,” she told him. Still pumping her arm, she watched as the thin red line snaked down the tube into Samtel, replenishing the life-giving blood he’d lost with some of her own. She kept it in her arm for ten minutes, until she started to develop a headache. Removing the line from her arm, she refilled the hydration bag with water and hung it up on a hook near Samtel, sprinkling some dissolved vitamins and antibiotics into the fluid. However, despite there being little else she could do for Samtel medically, Lena was loath to leave him, even to shed the rest of her bulky and uncomfortable vac suit. Instead, she remained knelt by his side. Reaching out with one hand, she laid it on his forehead, stroking it softly. “You still with me, Samtel?” she asked him. For his part, Samtel was still floating in between consciousness and the dark void he’d seen. Torn between the living world’s light, a place fraught with pain and suffering and the peaceful nothing of the dark, he was confused, unsure of which direction to gravitate toward. He looked to the blackness and found that there was rest there, unending bliss, devoid of any concern or emotion. It seemed inviting, welcoming, offering him a chance to set aside his worries and pain, stretching out arms to greet him. Samtel felt himself drift towards it, to embrace the blackness of oblivion. He glanced one back time at the light just before he slipped under completely. That was when he saw her. Though the light invoked fresh pain in his shoulder in the form of blazing agony, it showed him Lena and the vision swept away the suffering. In his mind’s eye, she was wearing an immaculate white dress, hair cascading down her shoulders as she looked at him with longing in her eyes. She was the most beautiful creature he had seen. “Come back to me,” Samtel heard her whisper plaintively. “Please.” A single tear ran its way down her face as she looked expectantly at him. Samtel tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat and died unsaid. Reaching out with one hand, she placed it on his arm and he felt a sharp shock ripple through his body, filling him with life somehow. He felt rejuvenated, the sleepy sensation of the darkness shaken off by her touch. Samtel didn’t know if he was dreaming or not, but he couldn’t just leave her, couldn’t turn his back on her. She mattered more to him than anything else, he admitted to himself. Despite all the trials and arguments they had experienced, she was worth living for. “All right,” Samtel mumbled, forcing the words through nonresponsive lips. “What was that?” Lena asked, leaning in to catch what he said. “I said . . . all right,” Samtel managed, his eyes blinking open back to reality. Lena was there, though considerably more bedraggled and wearing a blood-smeared, dirty vac suit. But she was there, and so was he, and that was what mattered. “Was I dreaming then, or am I dreaming now?” he asked slowly, still dazed. She laughed, a sound of relief, and wiped at her face, brushing the tear away. Samtel realized that that had been present in both his visions of her. “You’re not dreaming, Samtel,” she told him with a shake of her head. “How can I be sure?” Samtel replied, as the disorientation was slow to leave him and he remembered little of what had happened before, nor even why his shoulder throbbed so painfully. Lena smiled at him, then leaned down and kissed him. Samtel completely lost any sense of his bearings at that point. The pain in his shoulder, the deck beneath him, and the sharp metallic tang of blood in the air all disappeared, paling in comparison to the feel of her lips against his just as the light of all the stars in the night sky compared to the radiance of the sun. Samtel sensed the passion in the kiss from her and his heart told him that their feelings were mutual, that there was a bond between them that had formed during their survival. Now he knew that it was ready to blossom into its full maturity, that by accepting and prolonging the kiss, that he had revealed his own heart to her. That vulnerability should have worried him, but it didn’t. He knew that she was equally vulnerable now, having unveiled her own feelings for him, and that the trust between them had just deepened to whole new dimension. Even though the kiss had only lasted a few seconds, Samtel knew that it represented so much more than just a brief coincidence between two mortals. “There,” Lena said. “Do you still think you’re dreaming now?” Samtel managed a weak smile. “Maybe,” he answered. “Then it is a good dream,” she replied. Samtel stirred, glancing at the dressing on his shoulder, fragments of his memory returning to him slowly. “Thank you.” “For what?” she asked. “For everything,” he said. That gave her pause and she sat there quietly for a moment, trying to process his words and see the entirety of what the meant. “Try and rest,” she told him. “Don’t move, just rest. I’m sorry, but there aren’t any more painkillers.” “That’s okay,” Samtel told her. “Just . . . don’t leave me.” “I won’t.” She sat there for an hour, watching him even as he stared back. Finally, she ran her hand down his face one last time, then rose and walked off, leaving him to contemplate what had just happened. The next thirty hours passed in blur of sweat and pain as he was basically motionless on the ground, trying to let his body heal. The only intermission from the burning agony was when Lena stopped to check on him, changing the dressing on his wound or just sitting with him. She would prop his head and dribble water down his parched throat, but said little, preferring that he just focused on healing. She shushed him every time he attempted to talk, in part because she also needed the time to sort through her own emotions. Finally, though, Samtel could feel some measure of strengthen return to his body. He could sit up and talk, and while his shoulder was still sore, the artery had healed completely and the bacta and dermal regenerator had repaired most of the surface tissue damage. Lena chastised him for overexerting himself, but Samtel was so happy to be alive and to know that Lena felt about him the same way that he felt for her, that he didn’t care. He was careful not to place any strain on his shoulder, keeping his left arm in a sling, but refused to lie helpless on the deck or even in his bed. With his good arm, he was able to clean out his vac suit, patching up the holes torn in it by the razorape. “Don’t rush things,” Lena told him. “I’m just happy you’re still alive.” “We need to get that transmitter out there,” Samtel told her finally. “And you can’t do it by yourself.” “You’ve got to be kidding,” Lena replied, flabbergasted. “There’s no way we’re going back out there.” “You said it yourself, it’s up to us to try and call for help, because help obviously hasn’t been coming.” “Actually, I thought I saw a ship pass over the planet, so maybe we don’t need to risk ourselves. Maybe help is on the way.” “All the more reason to go back. If they haven’t found us by now, we need to communicate with them, let them know that we’re still alive. We should do it while it’s still warm, while we still have food and water. I don’t think your transmitter will work in subzero temperatures either. You were in favor of this idea before.” “That was before the planet nearly killed you,” Lena argued. “It tried to kill you, too, but you didn’t let it,” Samtel answered. “It’s thrown everything it has at us, and we’re still here. I’ll take my chances.” “Samtel . . .” she said, her eyes dropping. “I’ve finally come to peace with how . . . about us, and now you’re asking me to risk that? I don’t think I can handle that.” “We have to,” Samtel insisted quietly. “We take this chance, maybe we’ll see what kind of future we can build once we get off this planet. We don’t take it, then we’ll die here. Maybe we’ll die happily, but we’ll still be dead. No future at all.” He cupped his good hand under her chin and raised it back up. “We can do this, Lena,” he said. “Together. We chart our own course. Nothing will stop us.” “All right,” she answered. “We’ll do it.” It was a slower process getting ready. Both of them were more cautious now and Samtel needed help struggling into his patched-up vac suit. Samtel now carried a life-form detector that picked up infrared emissions from nearby animals, while Lena carried a blaster and vibroblade, just as Samtel did. Their equipment included a heavier medpac this time, as well as several flares to use as decoys in case of trouble. “Are you ready?” Samtel asked her, just before he put on his helmet. “I think so. Are you?” Lena replied. “Almost,” Samtel told her. Reaching out with his good hand, he pulled her closer to him and kissed her. She relaxed and accepted the kiss, her gloved hands cupping his face for the duration. It was shorter than their first kiss but still sweet, still a very tangible reminder of their feelings that sent a tingling feeling rushing from his lips down to his toes and back up again. “For good luck,” he said with a smile. Donning his helmet, he walked into the airlock, with Lena following suit. After a check to make sure that their exit was clear, he cycled it and stepped outside again into the alien forest. They were more cautious in their hiking, avoiding the stranglevines and that seemed to keep away the other predators. Like the insects that had attacked Lena, Samtel surmised that the vines gave off some kind of pheromone when injured or killed that drew other predators. Whatever the reason, the forest and its inhabitants were strangely benign on this expedition. Samtel and Lena reached the clearing without further incident, planting her communications beacon. Lena encoded a short message while Samtel kept watch, pulsing out a transmission to any ships orbiting the planet. Using the beacon to send out a ping, Lena thought she got a faint reply and that elated both of them. There was hope of rescue, now, however remote, that had seemed so unlikely before. Overcome with joy, Lena hugged Samtel with joy, wrapping her arms around him. “There’s someone out there,” she said. “They might be far away, but they received our message.” “See if you can amplify it,” Samtel answered excitedly. She complied, fiddling with the short-range transmitter. After filtering out the static and increasing the gain, Lena was finally able to patch something through. The result was scratchy and garbled, but it was audible enough so as to be intelligible. “The current masters of this vessel are currently unavailable . . .” a synthesized mechanical voice buzzed. “Your message has been received and they will return your transmission as soon as possible.” A fresh wave of despair washed over Lena, threatening to quash her hope. “What the kriff,” she muttered. “Hey, don’t worry,” Samtel told her optimistically. “They heard us, they should come for us soon.” “But what if it’s pirates? Or smugglers? Or they don’t care? It’s not the Sunflash,” she asked despondently. “We have to hope for the best,” Samtel said reassuringly. “Besides, what pirate or smuggler do you know of that has a message-answering system like that?” “I suppose,” Lena grumbled, scanning the perimeter of the clearing for any sign of trouble. She pulled out her datapad and ran some calculations, replaying the transmission they had received. “If my numbers are right, the ship we heard from is still insystem,” Lena told him. “I was able to calculate it from the transmission lag. The ship I saw is still here!” “Let’s just hope that the ship’s masters are the charitable types and check the comm system soon then,” Samtel replied. “There’s nothing we can do for now but wait,” Lena answered. “I sent them the coordinates for the ship, so we might as well wait there.” “Fair enough,” Samtel said. Together, they trudged back to the wrecked Quick Step, alert for any predators. Samtel thought he saw a razorape in the trees, but lighting and throwing a flare into the foliage sent the creature scrambling. The humidity of the sweltering air would soon stifle the fire, but it bought them enough time to escape the territory of the beast. They managed the three kilometers back to the ship in an hour, cycling back through the airlock. “Second time around wasn’t so bad,” Samtel noted as they slipped out of their smelly, confined vac suits. “The planet actually didn’t try a new and exciting way of killing us,” Lena remarked acidly. “Now we just settle in and wait,” Samtel told her. They busied themselves packing up their belongings, taking only the things of value to them and some basic utilities. The majority of the items on the wreck they had no desire to bring with them, but, anticipating an imminent rescue, they enthusiastically bundled everything they did want. However, the rescue was not forthcoming and the hours dragged on. Frustration set in, and Samtel busied himself with maintenance to avoid driving himself mad, while Lena set about rationing out their remaining food, enough for two more standard days. If they remained on the planet into its next night, they would deplete their stores by the time it was over, even with careful rationing. The air was already starting to cool off, a wave of storm clouds forming in the distance as the sun set slowly. They were probably another four hours from sundown, but Samtel knew that the rains were coming. By the time he’d finished with his repairs, Lena had put together a meal out of the scrapings they had left. It wasn’t much, merely two ration cubes and a pile of dehydrated crackers for the two of them, but she’d set out the little flask of brandy they had shared, which had a few sips left. At least there was still plenty of water. “I’m sorry, it isn’t much, but we’ll have to make do and stretch the food supplies.” “It’s fine,” Samtel told her, even though his stomach growled. “What’s the brandy for? Are we celebrating?” “Sure,” Lena said, hoisting the flask. “We got through a full trip, set up our transmitter, and made contact with the galaxy. We have hope for rescue, after all those hours of abandonment.” “And we have each other,” Samtel said, accepting the flask from her after she drank from it and taking a swig of his own. “That we do,” she agreed, chowing down on her tasteless ration cube. “And I’m just sad that it took this for us to discover that.” “I don’t regret it, though,” Samtel said, taking her hand in his. “When you’re done eating, I have a surprise for you.” They finished their meal rather quickly given the meager portions, so Lena allowed Samtel to lead her back to the refresher station. “Your surprise is in the refresher?” she asked dubiously. “Am I going to like this?” He grinned knowingly at her. “Trust me,” he said. Leading her into the compartment, she noted that he’d managed to clean up some of the grime and flush out most of the smell. “It’s a bit cleaner,” she noted. “How thoughtful of you to prepare our facilities in case we have guests.” “Ah, but it’s what’s you can’t see that’s important,” Samtel told her. Reaching for the lever on the shower, he twitched it up just barely, causing a stream of water to issue from the fountainhead for the first time since before the crash. “I got the shower and the clothes washer working again,” Samtel said, pointing to that device as well. “The rains are coming, so we don’t have to worry about wasting water, as long as we don’t overuse it.” “Wow,” Lena said, visibly impressed. “I’d almost forgotten what it meant to be clean, or what clean clothes felt like.” “It’s not hot water,” Samtel apologized, “but it’ll do.” “This is an excellent surprise, Samtel,” she told him. “Thank you.” “You can take the first shower,” he said. “The laundry machine isn’t fully up to snuff, but it’ll do a reasonable job of washing and drying your clothes, I think.” Samtel’s voice caught for a moment as he tried to work up the nerve to say what he was about to say. “There’s . . . there’s something else,” he said as well, though he thought his delivery sounded lame. “I’m not sure if it can wait.” “Oh?” she replied inquisitively. In response, he gently took Lena’s hand with his good arm. “Lena Quee, I love you very much and I believe that you love me,” he said earnestly. “When we get off this planet, I would like for us . . . to be together.” Her jaw dropped. “You really think we’re going to get off this planet, Samtel?” Lena asked him, still in shock. “I do,” Samtel replied, though he was internally crestfallen at her lack of immediate acceptance. “And if we don’t, if that ship doesn’t come, we’ll live out our last days together.” “Don’t worry,” she said. “Whatever happens to us, we’ll face it together. I won’t leave you alone.” Samtel heard an understanding in her words that told him that she had discerned his reasoning and accepted his decision. He hugged her tightly. “Thank you,” he said. When they released each other, Samtel headed back to the cabin while Lena used the shower and laundry machine, tossing in his clothes into the first cycle as well. She emerged, clean from the sweat, grime, and dirt that had caked onto them over their stay on the planet. Even just wearing a simple pair of pants and shirt, she looked better than he’d ever remembered seeing her. “Makes a world of difference, doesn’t it?” she remarked. “I’ll say,” Samtel told her, obviously goggle-eyed at her appearance. “Your turn,” she answered, jerking a thumb back in the direction of the refresher. “Thanks,” he said, his eyes tracking her as she walked off. A few minutes later, as he stepped from the cold shower and dried off, dressing in his clean clothes from the laundry machine, Samtel knew how much truth was in her words. He felt as if several layers of hardened grime and refuse had been washed from his skin and just putting on clothes that weren’t soaked in days worth of sweat and dirt was a very welcome change. He felt like a new man despite the lingering pain in his shoulder where the skin was still pink from the wound. He walked out from the refresher to hear the sounds of raindrops steadily pelting the ship’s hull. Lena came dashing around the corner to meet him, her eyes bright with excitement. “Samtel!” she shouted. “They’re here!” “Who?” he asked as he buckled on his utility belt. “Who’s here?” “The ship!” Lena exclaimed. “It’s landing near here. I saw its running lights through the rain a few minutes ago. We’re going to be rescued! After all those days of suffering, it’s over.” “I know,” Samtel answered, his heart filled with exuberance. “It’s finally over.” “What about us?” she asked. “What happens next?” “We go from here, if you’re willing,” Samtel answered steadfastly. “We’re just getting started.” “How can you be so sure?” Lena inquired. “It’s a lot different out there.” “But you’re not,” Samtel said. “I’ll give you my word that I have no intention of letting things change between us just because we’re off this rock. In fact, I’ll make it permanent.” He knelt down in front of her, clasping her hands in his own. “Lena Quee, it would be the greatest joy in my life if you would agree to marry me,” he said. She gaped at him, her jaw dropping in surprise. When she managed to collect her wits, she fumbled for the response, eliciting a momentary flicker of worry in Samtel. Finally, Lena regained the ability to speak. “Yes, yes—of course,” she said. “I’m so happy,” Samtel said. “I-I’m not sure what to say . . .” “I am,” Lena replied. “Shut up and kiss me.” Samtel complied readily, their lips melding together in sweet bliss. There was no immediate hurry to cease either—they were joyous beyond comparison, their lives joined together by mutual agreement just as their bodies were locked in the kiss in an expression of their love between them. “Mmmf, not too long,” Lena told him as they broke for air. “We have to get out of here, you know.” From the ruined control panel where they had sat lying useless for weeks, their personal comlinks chirped with the sound of an incoming message. Lena raced over to get hers and activate it. “Hello? Is anyone there? Do you need assistance?” came a voice, obviously a human male’s. “Yes! We’re here, and we would be grateful for a lift out of here to the nearest system.” “We’re prepared to offer assistance. We’ll set down next to your ship so you can board, then,” replied the man. “Be careful,” Lena warned. “This planet has something in the air that causes severe allergic reactions in humans. You’ll want to cycle through the air as quickly as possible to avoid that.” “We’ll be fine,” the voice assured her. “Just board quickly.” “Understood,” Lena said, peering out the viewport as the ship set down. Gathering their bundles of belongings, Samtel and Lena braced themselves at the airlock, waiting for the signal. “This is it,” Samtel said, squeezing her hand. “Whatever lies beyond his door, we face it together,” she answered. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Samtel told her. “We’re ready,” the voice called over the comlink. Samtel hit the airlock switch and it cycled open, letting them out into the rainy evening of the planet. Even wearing hooded jackets, there was no escaping the deluge, so they dashed across the few meters to the lowered boarding ramp of the waiting ship, a slender red Consular-class cruiser. Without further ado, they ran up the boarding ramp hand in hand, rubbing at the itchiness in their eyes from the allergies. The ramp sealed behind them with a switch as they entered the cool interior of the ship. The working glowpanels and clean orderliness were a welcome change from the trashed, unpowered existence in which they had survived for the last few days, as was the fully purified air. Two individuals approached them, one taller, one shorter. As they stepped into the light, Samtel was shocked to see that they were wearing the brown-and-white robes of the Jedi Order. There was an older-looking human, who when he spoke was revealed to be the voice that had spoken to them, as well as a younger Jedi, a male adolescent Kiffar. “Welcome,” the older Jedi told them. “My name is Tholme, and this is my apprentice Quinlan Vos.” “Samtel Kraen,” Samtel wheezed, then gestured at Lena. “Lena Quee.” “Thank you for saving us,” Lena managed even as she dealt with the labored breathing caused by even brief exposure to the allergens. Without a word from Tholme, Quinlan turned and walked off quickly. “I apologize, I didn’t realize how severe the allergies were,” Tholme said, noting their difficulty. “Here, this way.” He led them to a fairly-austere lounge and beckoned for them to sit down. The Jedi laid a hand on each of their heads and closed his eyes. When he did, something happened. The itchiness and difficulty breathing receded, though Quinlan returned with two breath masks for them. “The pure oxygen will help,” Tholme said. “Your breathing should return to normal in a few minutes.” “Thank you,” Samtel answered, then curiosity got the better of him. “How did you find us, Master Jedi? This is pretty far from Coruscant.” “My apprentice and I came out to deep space to meditate and think,” Tholme answered. “We were in the sector when we received your captain’s signal asking for anyone to keep an eye out for you and your crew.” Samtel wondered why the man didn’t ask about Jebvui since he knew the details about their ship, but didn’t inquire. “Well, you have our thanks,” Samtel said. “Our employer will gladly compensate you for your trouble.” Tholme waved it off. “We thank you for your gratitude, but Jedi do not serve for money. We exist to serve the Force and the people of the galaxy.” “Is that why you took so long to saunter down from orbit?” Lena half-demanded. “Lena, the Jedi did agree to get us off this rock. Don’t be rude,” Samtel said. “No, she has a valid question,” Tholme answered. “And even if my answer will not please you, I will tell you anyway. The Force told me that there were still unanswered questions, unresolved issues on the planet. I did not want to interfere with what was happening on the planet until I sensed no more conflict.” “That’s mighty . . .” Lena started to say, then shook her head and let the sentence trail off. “Never mind.” “You can resent me for that decision if you wish,” Tholme said, inclining his head slightly. “But the Force has rarely guided me wrong thus far and it told me not to come down until both of you were ready.” “Ready for what?” Lena asked. Tholme smiled enigmatically. “Your destiny,” he said. “The Force told you that?” Lena inquired skeptically. “The Force speaks to us in many ways,” Quinlan Vos piped up. “Of course it does,” Lena answered sarcastically. “What she meant to say is that we’re grateful for your assistance,” Samtel clarified. “Even if our ideas of timing are different.” “My trust in the Force does not require your belief,” Tholme said. “Nor do your doubts convey any offense.” “So, where will you take us?” Samtel asked. “We are headed to Coruscant,” Tholme said. “If there is anywhere on the Corellian Run you want to be dropped off at, we’ll accommodate you. And of course if you want to contact your parent ship, our facilities are at your disposal.” “Where do you want to go?” Samtel asked Lena. “Where’s home for you?” “Commenor,” she said. “If you drop us off at Denon, I can get back to Commenor from there. How about you?” “I’ll go wherever you’re going,” Samtel said. “If you’ll have me, I’ll be at your side on Denon, and on Commenor, and anywhere else you go.” Lena gave no reply, but squeezed his hand in affirmation. “Denon it is,” Tholme said, turning to head to the cockpit. He paused, though, to turn back to them. “We only found the way to this system by the Force, Miss Quee,” he said mildly. “Ordinarily, navigating the keyhole in hyperspace to get here is beyond the capabilities of a navicomputer to prevent serious damage to the hyperdrive. The route that you and your partner mapped to get here will not last, but as it is your route and your finding, we will respect your right to it to do with as you wish. We will keep no record of how we got here.” “We’re grateful for your consideration,” Samtel said demurely. “The service and generosity of the Jedi is legendary.” Lena looked more skeptical, but said nothing. Tholme seemed as if he was about to leave, but stopped again to make one last enigmatic statement. “While it may seem pointless to keep this place to yourself, or even to tell anyone about, just remember that amazing things can come from the most unlikely sources. Treasure this, until the time is right.” Then the Jedi walked off to the cockpit to lift the ship off of the hostile planet. “What do you make of that?” Lena asked with a frown. “I don’t like how the Jedi knew all that, or how he took his sweet time to get us off and now he’s acting all benevolent while subtly trying to tell us what to do.” “Forget the Jedi for now,” Samtel said. “They’re getting us off this rock and that’s all that matters to me.” “Didn’t you hear what he said?” Lena asked, obviously perturbed. “I don’t know, I was mostly cued in to the part where he referred to us as partners. And I don’t have to trust the Jedi to be grateful for him rescuing us,” Samtel said disarmingly. “What do you want to do with our worthless discovery?” “Oh, I suppose we can humor the Jedi and hold on to it until we can actually find a useful way of getting there,” Lena said. “It’s not worth anything right now anyway, though I’m not sure that I can go back to navigation after this.” “I know what you mean,” Samtel concurred. “I think I’m done spacefaring, too.” “What will we do?” Lena asked. Samtel considered. “I’ve always thought about doing law, maybe something related to property,” he said. Samtel slowly brought his arm up around her shoulder and smiled at her. “Whatever it is, wherever we go, we’ll do it together. That’s a promise.” Lena smiled back at him. “Sounds good,” she said. “Partner.” The cruiser’s engines whined to life as it rose on a cushion of repulsorlifts into the rainy sky. Inside, safe and rescued at last, Samtel and Lena escaped their terrestrial prison as the ship charted a course out of the system and back into the galaxy at large. From now on, whatever course Samtel and Lena settled on, they would navigate it together.
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